Last Man Standing
by collectivelycurious
Summary: Peter wakes up on a rough day aching all over. His skin is bruised, his head is pounding, and he's tired as hell. What more could possibly go wrong?
1. Chance Meeting

"Peter? Peter it's a quarter past eight! You're going to be late!"

A dejected groan came from under a plush, blue bed sheet. It was at least a good five minutes before a well muscled arm slid out from under the cover. A shocking array of bruises were littered across the smooth skin, which sported a light tan along with the discoloration. A pinky finger twitched as the distant noise of clattering plates filled the room. Another dismayed sigh tumbled out of the form curled up in its twin sized bed.

_Today is not going to be my day_, Peter thought dejectedly.

The sound of small feet pounding up the stairs made him wince.

_God everything is so loud now._

A few quiet seconds went by, and Peter almost drifted off to the peaceful sound of nearby birds. The only thing in his way was the three deafening wraps that slammed into his door. The seemingly harmless noise was like point blank gunshots to Peter's sensitive ears. If that wasn't enough, then the anger laced voice spilling from the hallway was sure to drive him insane.

"Peter Parker! I don't know what's gotten into you but you need to get up and get ready! "You know Jamison won't be happy."

The last sentence had a monumental effect on Peter, because with a strangled cry, he sat straight up. Hands ripped off the cover and threw it across the room before a nearly naked body stumbled out of bed. A chiseled six pack and well defined calf muscles appeared in a full length mirror located on a wall. As Peter scrambled to find his choice outfit, he noticed the poor condition of his room and winced. All sorts of clothing items were strewn across the floor, along with a peculiar pair of red and black web patterned gloves. With a quick snatch, they were tossed under the bed before he responded.

"Coming aunt May! Just give me a second!"

A clean pair of respectable khakis were slumping sadly on Peter's dresser, along with a neat t shirt. Peter sighed in relief before hastily throwing on the outfit, his hands shooting up to his face as he realized something was on it. In his partially hazy state, Peter had all but forgotten about the iconic mask that covered his face. Before he could pull off the dirty fabric, his aunt's voice floated through the door, the sound of her wrinkled hand turning the knob making Peter's blood run cold.

"Peter, I know you're a busy boy, but this is important. You need this raise if you want to "get that apartment you're looking at. I found a clipping in the newspaper if you want to "read more..."

Peter yanked up his pants while hoping over to his bedroom door. It opened a crack before his sore shoulder slammed it shut, eliciting a pained groan.

_Fighting the Lizard took more out of me than I thought. That was months ago wasn't it?_

Peter's train of thought was cut short as he realized his rude interruption was left hanging without an explanation. He struggled for an answer, pointless words tumbling out of his mouth at top speed.

"Not right now! I'm...um...I'm not decent! I'll be down in a second."

Peter leaned his head against the door, his aunt's discontented sigh kicking up a little guilt. Ever since Peter had gotten his powers, he had noticeably distanced himself from the one person that mattered the most in his life. It was just too dangerous for anyone to find out who he was tied to. With that said, it also meant Peter wasn't looking for a significant other at the moment.

Or at least, he didn't know he was.

The sound of aunt May descending the stairs offered Peter a fleeting moment of relief, but like all his peaceful moments, it was short lived. The bright red numbers on his digital alarm clock easily reinstated panic. Peter quickly pulled off his filthy mask and flung it across the room, its final destination being the air vent adjacent to Peter's rickety night stand. In a blur faster than anyone could follow, he buttoned up his pants, threw on his shirt, and vaulted down the stairs. The smell of freshly scrambled eggs elicited a whining rumble from Peter's stomach, and he hastily glided into the kitchen. With a toss of his shaggy brown hair, Peter eyed the heaping plate of fluffy eggs hungrily. Another discontented growl peeled out across the room, this time catching aunt May's attention. She turned from the sink and eyed Peter with a strange look, his lopsided grin and shrugged shoulders making her smirk.

"You better clean that plate in record time if you hope to catch the bus on time. From "what I've heard, it's been arriving earlier each morning."

She returned to washing remnants of last nights dinner off a heavy pan, one long strand of grey hair falling across her face. Peter simply mumbled out his acknowledgment before digging in, his spoon nearly a blur as it eagerly shoveled mouthfuls away. Peter inwardly sighed in relief as he felt his spotty energy returning. After his accident, it had been a real pain trying to keep his appetite sated.

_I've been eating at least twice as much as normal, and I can't go without something after my usual patrols. _

_Maybe I can bring a snack?_

Peter's train of thought was cut off as his metal spoon clinked against his vacant plate, his own surprised glance matched by aunt May's. He simply shirked it off before flying out of his seat, the numbers on his cheap Rolex knockoff setting off warning bells. In a graceful dash around the kitchen, Peter tossed his dirty plate in the sink, grabbed his camera, collected his best photos, and veered for the door. Worried nagging took over Peter's mind as he booked for the door.

_If I don't pull something fast, I'll be toast. _

_Jamison hates stragglers._

A mischievous grin crossed his lips as Peter's thoughts shifted.

_Maybe Spiderman can give me a little lift…_

Peter had his right hand wrapped around the door knob when a fuzzy blue slipper suddenly cuffed his ear. With a startled blink, he turned and viewed his aunt, who was standing in the hallway with her hands on her hips. By the looks of it, she was not at all pleased with Peter's hasty departure.

"Peter Parker, would you please listen to me for a moment?"

Peter let go of the doorknob and shifted his weight onto his right heel, the impatience inside him growing.

_Now's not the time for a lecture aunt May._

His aunt's voice broke over his slightly annoyed mind set.

"Peter, I hope you realize that you have no shoes on and look like you just came out of the dryer."

Peter slowly looked down at his clothes, which did indeed look like they were victims of a hurricane, before discovering his bare feet. A dejected sigh tumbled out of Peter as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

_I can't believe I forgot my freaking shoes. _

_God this Spiderman thing needs to stop running late night shifts._

Peter suddenly smiled as he caught his aunts warm grin, which was followed by a peck on the cheek as she fixed him up. Delicate yet nimble hands straightened out the creases in Peter's shirt, and even fastened a classy tie around his neck. Once that was done, aunt May dusted off Peter's shoulders and presented him his nice sneakers, along with a pair of clean socks. Peter gazed at his aunt with loving eyes before drawing her in for a hug, her happy laugh making his day. A smooth, withered hand reached up and fixed his hair before resting on his shoulders.

"Ben would be so proud of you. Lord knows I am."

Peter's grin remained, but his eyes took on a sad light behind the brightness. Uncle Ben was always a source of bitter sweet heart ache for Peter, and he often found himself wondering just what his life would be like if Uncle Ben were still here. Peter leaned in and gave his aunt a quick peck on the cheek before slapping his shoes on and briskly walking out the door.

"What is this crap? You expect me to run this?! Get out of my office, and don't come back until you have something about that wall crawler!"

Peter winced as Jamison's gruff voice boomed throughout his office, the volume of it practically rattling the windows. Before he could reach down and retrieve the manilla envelope full of his photos, it was thrown straight into a mini trash can next to Jamison's desk. Peter scowled at the back of Jamison's chair, his mildly annoyed voice grating Jamison's ears.

"Mr. Jamison, we've been running front page Spider-Man photos for three months now, and it's getting old…...really old. Besides, that new masked lunatic that set Paco's Taco Palace on fire has been spotted multiple times throughout the city, and he might be up to…"

Before Peter could finish his sentence, Jamison barked out an interjection, his chair spinning around so that he could give Peter his best disinterested glare.

"Excuse me, but I don't think you realize who calls the shots around here. I say what gets on the front page, got it? You're the one that brings me the material. Now, get out there and get me what I want. I'm not paying you to stand around Parker!"

Peter forced out his agreement before leaning forward and snatching his photos out of the waste bin, Jamison's displeased grumbling easily reaching his ears.

"Damn kids. Don't know a thing about journalism."

Peter simply rolled his eyes before shuffling out of Jamison's office, his trusty camera bumping against his chest as he walked. Disappointment did bubble in his stomach, but it was nothing compared to the anger that seethed in his mind. He had taken an ear full of rejects and insults from Jamison before, but the Spider-Man bashing was going too far.

_What is Jamison's problem anyways?_

_All I've done is cleaned up the streets, and not to mention take down a grade A super villain. _

_Where does he see the whole "web headed menace" deal?_

Peter's aggravated thoughts came to a simmer as he jammed his thumb into the elevator's down button, the manila envelope meanwhile shifting until it was safely tucked under his right arm. A few quiet seconds passed before a tell tale ding drifted through the air, and the elevator doors slowly slid open. To Peter's relief, it was empty and void of the god awful music that would normally be blaring through the speakers. Peter stepped on and immediately punched the ground floor button, the long descent giving him time to ponder over the newest addition to New York's freak show.

_What is he calling himself exactly?_

Peter opened up the manila folder and carefully pulled out a couple close ups of the mystery suspect, the quality of the photos surprising. Peter had cut a deal with a dozen shop owners around the city that involved putting up expensive motion cameras in their store windows, each one taking multiple shots throughout the day. Peter had of course forked over the bill for the precious items, and it practically left him eating Ramen out of a cardboard cup. A frown crossed Peter's face as he studied the snapshots closely, his confused thoughts struggling to work themselves out.

_He doesn't have a name yet, but I would give it a week before another newspaper sticks one to him. _

_His costume is like nothing I've ever seen before…._

_A dark red and black, with some black on his side and eyes…_

Peter's eyebrows raised in surprise as he noticed a small detail that expressed a very, naughty kind of practice

_There's a black collar with a hook in it on his neck, kind of like a choker. _

_I wonder what that's for..._

Peter then shifted his gaze down the man's body, unconsciously lingering on his chiseled abs before moving on to the pair of katanas behind his back.

_His weapon of choice appears to be swords, but he also has side arms, and smaller knives as well. _

_Why would this guy burn a Mexican restaurant down and not take any of the cash?_

Peter was yanked out of his concentration when the elevator slowed to a stop, the doors hissing open a second later. He barely had a chance to breathe before a handful of men in business suits crammed themselves into the tiny space, nearly crushing Peter in the process. Peter pushed his way out of the chaotic jumble of suitcase toting workers, his shirt becoming seriously disheveled in the process. He took a moment to brush himself off, his mood taking a sour turn as he stalked towards the lobby's door.

_Doesn't anyone realize there's a whole other world besides their own? _

Peter went to grab the large, gold colored handle that adorned the entrance doors, but stopped dead in his tracks as he finally looked up. Shock slammed through his veins, along with a sharp stab of dread.

There, standing right in the middle of the street, was the man from his photos.


	2. Silly String Showdown

Deadpool had no idea where he was. No, all he had was a vague idea and a glitchy version of Google maps downloaded onto the brand new iPhone he stole from the nearest pedestrian. Siri had been consequently droning at him the entire way to the Daily Bugle, and Deadpool was practically yearning to just blow his brains out all over the pavement. But, he had somehow kept his composure together, venting his frustration by jumping into random bystanders conversations and screaming,

"THEY HAVE AN APP FOR THAT!"  
So, that is how Deadpool came to be carelessly lounging in the middle of an active street, the stolen phone dangling limply in his right hand. He glanced around his surroundings, ignoring the strange stares that followed his every move, which was decidedly halted because he had no idea wh…

{That is not true! We were planning where to plant the bombs so that when Spidey came flying through…}

Excuse me, this is my story here, and I will not have you ruining the plot again Deadpool! The readers have no idea what you're talking about anyways, so just try to keep your mouth shut this time okay?

{Excuuuuuuuuuse me? You know I can SEE you typing right now…..}

What?!

[Let's not get too trigger happy. We do want to see where this is going don't we?]

{I guess….}

Um…. Hello?! Can I continue writing now, or am I still in danger…..apparently….

[Go ahead.]

Okay…

Deadpool turned to survey the looming building to his left, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the base.

_We can put one there, and maybe one under the door…_

_Oooo we can put it in that homeless guy's coat when he comes back!_

Deadpool's train of thought was cut short as his field of vision suddenly slid up to meet a very startled pair of eyes looking from behind the big glass doors in the front of the Daily Bugle. They were a soft hazel color, with a splash of earthy green brightly shining in perfect harmony. Deadpool felt something strange tug at his gut, a chain reaction starting in response. A peculiar flutter settled in the pit of his stomach, and a foreign flush of heat crept across his cheeks. He stood frozen, his eyes wider than a flattened tortilla. He was….perfect. Deadpool numbly took a step forward, his pulse hammering in his ears. Another step, this time more sure than the last. He was about to reach a hand out and grasp the door handle when the man turned on his heel and ran to exit adjacent to the stairs. Deadpool was now frozen with shock.

_What the hell just… _

A jolt of realization slammed into Deadpool's mind as he dumbly stood in the middle of the entryway. Something monumental had just happened. Something that had never happened to Deadpool before.

For the first time, all the voices in Deadpool's head were quiet.

He roughly shook his head, and immediately they returned.

{Why are we staring at our reflection?}

[Because that ass?]

"No you idiots. We just saw someone...interesting?"

Deadpool ignored the nasty glances that followed his every move. Well, he had just popped up in the middle of the street in full costume. He decided to shake off the strange encounter and instead refocus on the task at hand. Catching Spidey. He again evaluated the building's foundation, pulling a can of silly string from his belt once he located appropriate locations for the C4. Deadpool violently shook the neon colored can before spraying copious amounts of the goo on a large brick near the door. The bright pink string sagged as it feebly stuck to the stone,

"There. Only one hundred forty three more spots to go!"

Deadpool happily tapped his free hand against his belt, which sported at least a dozen more cans of the silly string. He sauntered on for a few steps, but was promptly interrupted by the loud screech of a megaphone.

"This is the NYPD. You are violating loitering laws and will be arrested if you do not clear the premises immediately."

Deadpool spun around, his silly string covered hands held up innocently.

"What seems to be the problem officer?"

By now, a large crowd of bystanders had gathered behind the two squad cars on the street. All kinds of cell phones were out, a handful flashing madly. Deadpool took notice.

"Hey! Tickets to this gun show aren't free. Twenty bucks for a photo...maybe a little less for the bimbo. Oh you know who I'm talking to ya-"

"CLEAR THE PREMISES." The megaphone roared.

Deadpool visibly cringed before putting his hands on his hips, silly string still in possession.

"BLAH BLAH CLEAR THE PREMISES BLAH BLAH." He shouted.

Deadpool squinted at the police officer's name tag.

"Didn't you mother ever tell you to use your inside voice…Shilbo? Your name's Shilbo?"

{Bilbo? Bilbo Baggins?}

The officer sneered at Deadpool and lowered his microphone.

"Look dipshit, you need to get your ass back to the fun house. I don't have time for your crap. Now get in the car like a good superhero or I'm tasering you."

Immediately Deadpool burst out laughing.

_Superhero? Did he really just call us a superhero?_

[Apparently.]

It took him a minute to recover from his bouts of laughter before he could again address the officer.

"Look Shilbo, I don't know what hobbit hole you crawled out of, but I think it'd be best if you got back to the Shire…"

Deadpool glanced down at an imaginary watch.

"Dear me. It's almost Tea Time."

A small trickle of snickers came from the crowd, causing the officer to go beet red. He immediately went for the taser.

"Whoa whoa whoa Shilbo buddy old pal I meant only the best. Look I'll be a good little "superhero" like you said okay? Sound good?"

The officer again sneered at Deadpool.

"Yeah yeah. Whatever. Sit your ass on the Bugle's steps and wait a minute."

A collection of disappointed sighs drifted out from the onlookers as they began to disperse. The phone's went away, and the officer relaxed a little as he turned to grab the car radio. It was so damn hard dealing with these ass hats while people were around. If he got this guy alone, god knows he would be beating his dull brains all over the-

A light tap on the officer's right shoulder had him spinning around in panic. There, standing right in front font of the officer's face, was Deadpool.

"Hi!" He shouted.

Unfortunately, the officer's reflexes were not fast enough to dodge the jettison of silly string aimed at his face. With a loud hiss, piles upon piles of it were sprayed right into the officer's mouth, which was open wide with shock. He stumbled and fell back against his car, his hat flying off and onto the pavement. Deadpool happily scooped it up and sloppily slapped it on his head. Pedestrians immediately stopped, piling up until a crowd of massive proportions had again gathered.

"Officer shithead reporting for duty!" Deadpool proclaimed at the ever present cell phones.

{What are we doing?}

[Yes...This is not like us…]

_You know we're trying to get Spidey's attention. We gotta act super crazy._

Deadpool gave a lopsided salute before tossing the now empty can of silly string over his shoulder. It promptly landed on the officer's head, who was angrily spitting out the silly string. The man jumped to his feat in a fit of rage and immediately yanked his gun from its holster. The crowd backed up a few feet, worried eyes focused on the barrel of the officer's Glock.

"Stop or I will shoot!"

Deadpool spun around, a deep frown on his face.

"You get to shoot people for spraying silly string at you? What are you, mini Hitler?"

[Moron he's going to-]

"That's it!"

The officer cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet, traveling far too fast for Deadpool to evade, hit him square in the chest. It tore through all four chambers of his heart, leaving a gory trail of torn flesh in its wake. Deadpool staggered backwards, his eyes wide.

[Well we did it now. Tell me when this idiot wakes up will you?]

{We're gonna sleep in a morgue again!}

Deadpool shoved his conflicted personalities away, struggling to stay standing. Needless to say, his struggle didn't last long. He collapsed onto the pavement, a small amount of blood spattering about him. Screams could be heard around him, but Deadpool hardly noticed. He only managed to squeeze out one measly thought before dying:

_Mein Kampf ist real..._


	3. Work

Peter had just landed on top of Brent's Deli across from the Daily Bugle when he heard a shot. He jogged over to the edge of the roof, his muscles tense as he heard the startled screams below. Much to his shock, he saw the criminal from his photos laying on the ground. A large pool of blood was lazily crawling away from the man's chest. Peter took note of the quarter sized hole gaping where the heart was.

_Shot. _He thought grimly.

He then looked to the crowd of witnesses, sheepishly inching away from the building's edge. Peter wasn't quite sure how New Yorker's viewed him yet. The fight with Lizard had definitely shaken the city, and even after a month had gone by people still looked at him with fear. It probably wasn't a good idea to randomly pop up in broad daylight. Especially not with so many people around…

"This is a crime scene now. Get moving!"

Peter cringed as he heard the gruff bark of a police officer grind through the air. He peered at him, his eyes meanwhile scanning up and down the officer's uniform. Bits and pieces of pink string were clinging to the fabric. Peter frowned, but a second later a small smirk crossed his lips. To him, it looked as if the stuff was silly string. Uncle Ben used to buy that for him all the time when he was younger… Peter roughly dismissed the bittersweet thought before again glancing over at the body. He scanned it, a good deal of confusion soon bubbling up. The man wasn't armed with any guns, only a pair of katanas on his back. From what Peter saw below him he could not identify any sign of a struggle. Not even scuff marks dragged across the pavement.

_What did this guy do to deserve getting shot? _

It was then that Peter noticed the string of cans laced around the man's waist. He squinted, further straining his eyes to get a better look at them. Prank Palace Professional Silly String was printed across each can in neon orange, pink, and blue colors.

_Prank Palace… I used to go there on the weekends with Uncle Ben. _

Peter was snapped out of his reminiscing when the piercing sound of sirens invaded his hearing. An ambulance had arrived on the scene, and the police officer lazily waved them over while picking silly string off his black uniform. As two paramedics emerged from the back and assessed the body, a grim look passed over each of their faces. They simply shook their heads before returning to the vehicle, only to come back with a crisp, white sheet. A quick flick of the wrist had it gently draping over the body, the edges around the chest becoming soaked with blood. Peter ground his teeth in anger before turning away from the policeman.

_Police brutality really has become a problem… _

He quickly ran to the edge of the building before jumping off, slinging a web onto the nearest surface. As he swung around New York City, Peter took time to think about just what had happened. There was a part of him that so desperately wanted to jump down onto that street and question the officer then and there, but he knew that he'd be shot. Spiderman existed to fight the bad guys; the guys normal people just couldn't fight. If he overstepped his bounds and started questioning police officers, who knows what could happen to him.

_The NYPD would have it out for me. That's for sure. Although,_ _there might be something that plain Peter Parker could do… _

A panicked scream tore through the air. Peter's head whipped to the right, just in time to see a masked man beating another man senseless with a crowbar. He shook his head and let out a disappointed sigh.

_Time to go to work. _He thought drearily.


	4. Exhausted

Peter let out an exhausted huff, sinking down into the old recliner across from his tv. It was already midnight and yet he still wasn't done patrolling the city. He absent mindedly scratched the front of his mask, his eyes meanwhile darting to the stairs. Usually Aunt May was asleep by now, but Peter didn't want to let his guard down. A mildly insistent whine drawled out from his stomach, causing him to let out another tired sigh. Normally Peter didn't return to the house until patrol was over, but tonight he had to have at least ten minutes of rest. So much was going on at The Bugle, and college sure as hell wasn't making anything easier. As Peter stood to go rummage through the fridge he let out an annoyed groan, dragging his feet across the floor.

_I have a lab report due in a couple days… How am I going to do this?_

He sulkily yanked the refrigerator door open, slouching his shoulders as he viewed the options. Not much was available. A half full bag of dried out carrots, a gallon of milk, some broccoli, string cheese, little bit of macaroni… Peter visibly winced as he came across a pristinely wrapped block of meatloaf.

_I love Aunt May, but her cooking isn't fantastic...definitely not eating a chunk of the Sahara Desert in meat form…_

He opted to grab the macaroni and string cheese. He popped off the blue plastic lid on the container before absentmindedly tearing up the string cheese. As he lay the hand shredded cheese pieces onto the cold pasta below, the iconic "breaking news" jingle blared out from the TV. Peter scrambled into the living room and snatched up the remote, a small amount of panic bubbling up. A woman with wavy blonde hair popped onto the screen, her bright white teeth nearly blinding Peter as she spoke.

"Good evening. NBC 4 comes to you with a breaking news report from St. Francis "Hospital, where an unknown suspect has stolen an ambulance and the patient inside."

The camera then zoomed out from the woman's face and to the nearby police commissioner, who was surrounded by microphones and flashing cameras.

"Commissioner!"

The woman shouldered her way through crowds of rival reporters before rudely shoving her microphone in the Commissioner's face.

"Commissioner, is there anything you can tell us about this suspect? Is there any word on "the patient's condition?"

The Commissioner clenched his jaw in irritation.

"The NYPD is not disclosing any information to the public as of now. There will be a press conference in half an hour with the Chief of Police. Ask your questions then."

"The patient's family needs answers Commissioner. Does the NYPD even know who "they're looking for?"

"Look, all I can tell you is that some intern down at the morgue swore he saw some black "and red cosplay degenerate waltz outta' the room. So unless you want to gamble your "questionable reputation on a Five Hour Energy induced hallucination, I suggest you can "it until the press conference."

Peter quickly shut off the TV, his mind racing. He definitely had to find that ambulance, but something was bothering. Some small detail the Commissioner had leaked.

_Black and red cosplay… could it be?_

He quickly shook his head as he opened up the front window, perching perfectly on the edge.

_I saw his body. There's no way anyone could recover from that. _

A quick scan of the neighborhood confirmed that no one was out, and Peter leaped up onto the roof. He stared ahead, soon breaking into a sprint.

_I need to find that ambulance. Considering there's no info on its location, this might take me some time, and that might be time I don't have._

Peter shook off his hunger pains as he headed for the bright lights of New York City.


	5. Spider Menace

Luckily for Peter, the Daily Bugle was reporting on the story with up to the minute information. A light breeze curled around him as he sat atop a brick apartment building. The myriad neon lights of New York City glowed, flashed, and blinked against the inky black sky. Screeching tires and blaring horns permeated the air, the familiar sounds relaxing Peter. After living in New York City for so long he had gotten used to its busy hum. A huge electronic billboard suddenly flared to life as J. Jonah Jameson's voice barked out.

"There's no update from from the NYPD on the stolen ambulance's location, but the reporters at the Daily Bugle have found its location before New York's finest."

The camera flicked from Jameson's face to a fuzzy video. The poor quality made it hard to distinguish anything beyond a few feet, but Peter could just see blaring red lights barreling down the side of a busy four lane street.

"As you can see, the suspect is fleeing via Grand Central Parkway near LaGuardia Airport. His destination is unknown-"

The video suddenly shook and crashed to the ground, a soft cuss escaping from whoever was holding the camera. The Bugle's footage quickly snapped away and to an irritated Jameson. He rubbed his temple slowly.

"Can't anyone hold a damn camera…"

Jameson ended his grumbling and briskly moved on, his sharp blue eyes harboring a malicious glint.

"I don't need to wait for the NYPD to know who is behind this atrocity. That wall crawling menace is terrorizing New York!"

Jameson then leaned forward, his index finger pointed right at the camera.

"I know you're out there Spiderman. I know you-"

Peter quickly leapt off the building, his temper reaching a boiling point. There was only so much of Jameson he could handle, and that little tirade definitely exceeded his recommended daily dose. Besides, he now had the location of the missing ambulance.

_The ambulance is near LaGuardia. Pretty far from St. Francis Hospital. It's a busy road… Even more busy now that the NYPD knows._

Peter made his way through the city, swinging nimbly from building to building. He knew he would arrive at Grand Central Parkway before the police, but could he risk that much exposure? There were no skyscrapers to retreat to near LaGuardia, and it wouldn't take much for a bullet to find Peter.

_Maybe this one should be left to the NYPD. I'm not exactly a welcomed guest to New York's skyline…_

"Look! It's Spider-guy! Right there!"

Peter shook away his thoughts and looked below him. A small crowd of onlookers were staring at him with wide eyes, a select few holding up phones in the hopes of catching a video to plaster on social media. Unfortunately for them all they could capture was a blue and red blur as Peter flipped behind a billboard.

_Really? Spider-guy?! What am I, a cheap Chinese knock off?_

He shook his head before moving on, his thoughts refocusing on the ambulance.

_This one could definitely go to the NYPD…_

Strangely enough, Peter felt a peculiar tug at his stomach. Something about the Commissioner's description of red and black… He definitely had to at least catch a glimpse of the suspect. The scent of freshly boiled hot dogs wafted up to Peter's nose, and he couldn't help but glance down. A street vendor was placing a steaming hot dog into a fluffy bun, the water from the hot dog soaking it. Next came ribbons of golden mustard and ruby ketchup under a bed of fresh, crisp onions. Sauerkraut and relish piled high completed the savory mountain of condiments, completing one of New York's signature street delicacies, the dirty water dog. A rumbling growl drawled out an irritated groan from Peter.

_With great power comes great food dependability._

Peter smirked and continued on, the fuzzy glow of apartment lights illuminating his way.


	6. If You Wanna Be My Hostage!

A veil of darkness still surrounded New York when Peter finally tracked down the ambulance. He clung tightly to the underside of a rusty white Hostess truck, his fingers burning from the grueling ride. Unfortunately, LaGuardia wasn't a prime skyscraper area, so Peter had to improvise. A blanket of grimy puddle water suddenly dowsed him as the truck rolled over a jagged pothole. He groaned internally as his back and shoulders were soaked a dirty brown color.

_Great. This will definitely take all of Aunt May's Tide to get out. How am I going to explain that…_

The truck suddenly came to a halt, its tires screeching out. Peter could hear the sounds of multiple sirens close by, confirming his fears that the NYPD had already surrounded the ambulance. He quickly glanced down at the pavement, noting the red and blue flashes reflecting off its surface. By the looks of it, there were at least a dozen vehicles up ahead. What kind and how many people they held was anyone's guess.

The sound of approaching sirens caused Peter to tense up, his pulse quickening. They grew closer and closer, the blinding lights illuminating the underbelly of the truck. He pulled himself snug against the tangle of grimy pipes, black smudges streaking across his face and chest. Brake pads let out a sharp squeal as a car was brought to a quick stop, followed by a few seconds of tense silence. Suddenly a car door clicked open before promptly slamming shut, followed by the dull thump of walking. Peter cautiously turned his head, his eyes locking onto a pair of immaculate black shoes.

_Definitely NYPD. _He thought nervously. _I can recognize them anywhere. _

The officer jogged up to the driver's side of the truck, his fist slamming against the window.

"Hey! Open your window now."

The driver complied, his voice wavering with nervousness.

"What's the problem man?"

"What's the problem? That roadblock you just drove around is there for a reason genius."

"I'm sorry. I just have this delivery of Twinkies…"

"There won't be a delivery if you're dead. There's an armed suspect parked beyond that "barricade. Pretty sure you're not driving around with bulletproof glass bud."

"Yeah...I guess."

"Pay attention to what's going on next time. You're lucky I don't drag you out of there "and throw you in a cruiser."

The officer stepped back from the window, a small sigh of frustration escaping him.

"Turn around and head back. Make sure to use the left hand emergency lane. We laid "down spike strips."

"S-sure thing man."

The driver rolled up his window and immediately reversed, eventually making a wide turn. The truck headed towards the emergency lane, quickly pulling away from where Peter needed to be. He cursed, racing to come up with a plan of action.

_Okay I definitely can't take a ride back to the Twinkie factory. _He peaked behind him.

The officer was pulled off the side of the road, opposite to the truck.

_The sides of the road are pretty steep. I can roll down into the stream, hopefully unnoticed. I just need to find the right moment…_

The truck wandered closer to the grassy edge. Peter inched towards the side door, his eyes glancing up at the driver's side mirror.

_Not looking...not looking…_

He took in a deep breath and tensed his legs, calming his nervousness by focusing on his heartbeat.

_One...Two...Three!_

With a powerful shove Peter launched himself from cover and onto the grass. He curled into a defensive form, his shoulder slamming into the ground as he rolled towards the ditch. Small stones and twigs bit into his suit, creating speckles of tears. A few more tumbles and Peter was at the bottom of the stream. He quickly shuffled into a crouching position, openly wincing at the dull aches littered across his body.

_Pretty sure I hold the "Most Bruises Ever Received" in the Guinness Book of World Records._

He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck before taking in the view before him. The encompassing darkness of night had faded into a watery grey haze, gently illuminating Peter's surroundings. He crouched lower, his eyes nervously darting to the unmoving line of police cruisers. The steepness of the hill didn't allow him to see the road fully, but he surmised that there were at least five cruisers blocking its entirety. Beyond that the road sharply curved to the right and, much to Peter's relief, was covered on either side by looming Oak trees.

_The ambulance has to be around the curve. I'm guessing the NYPD hasn't approached it for a good reason. The suspect could be armed, holding the patient hostage._

Peter inched forward, his motions sharply calculated. If one police officer even glanced over the ridge… He shook away the thought, his gaze locked onto the distant treeline.

_Alright Peter. Let's do this._

He carefully increased his speed, his body lifted into plank position as he crawled. The line of cruisers drew closer and with each step, Peter could feel his body tense up. There was no way he could take on the NYPD, even if they had him surrounded. They were the good guys, people he couldn't afford to have a problem with. An abrupt growl rumbled out from his stomach, causing him to wince.

_Now is not the time! _

He checked to his left, the line of cruisers now adjacent to him. The officers were out of their cars, guns drawn and eyes glued to the road ahead. A palpable unease hung heavy in the air, further jarring Peter's nerves. As he moved on he caught the tail end of two junior officers' conversation.

"-can't proceed. The suspect is armed."

The officer closest to Peter shook his head. He lifted his cap and ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair.

"Isn't SWAT on its way?"

"Closest team was called in for a drug bust. McKneal's team is fifteen minutes out."

Peter cursed his luck, his eyes darting between the cruisers and his destination.

_Just what I need. An entire SWAT team ready to turn me into Spidey swiss cheese._

Once more, nagging doubt pulled at Peter's stomach. The situation was already dangerous with such choking police presence, but a SWAT team? He had to have a death wish. A cold breeze gnawed at his skin, sending unwelcome shivers racing through his body. It was then that Peter noticed the first pastel hues of sunrise begin to dye his surroundings. Small doses of panic crawled their way through his veins, forcing a quick decision. Either pick up the pace and beat the SWAT team to the ambulance or head back home. He shook his head.

_I didn't just hitchhike on the bad part of a Twinkie truck for nothing. There's a hostage that needs saving, and that's a job for your friendly neighborhood Spiderman. _

Peter consequently picked up the pace, pulling himself off the ground and into a crouching position. He briskly walked along, ears pricked for any unrest from the officers behind him. The treeline rapidly grew closer with no noise behind him, He relaxed ever so slightly.

_Just a little closer…_

A gnarled, monstrous oak loomed ahead. One thick branch beckoned Peter forward, its sturdy bark promising adequate shelter.

_Perfect. _He thought with measurable relief.

A persistent burn had settled into his calves and thighs, each screaming for rest. He drew deep into his energy reserves and sprang forward. Lusty sinews burst forth, hurtling Peter yards ahead. It took one last shove and he was in the air, arms outstretched towards the oak. Wind whistled past his ears, comforting his frayed nerves. Just as his fingertips grazed an emerald leaf an alarmed shout rang out behind him.

"What the hell is that?" It thundered.

"Draw weapons!" Another barked.

A hair-raising chill enveloped Peter's body as the familiar click of a gun being cocked reached his ears. Barely a millisecond passed before his Spider Sense kicked in, throwing his limbs in another direction. His feet landed lightly on the branch before he leapt off into the tangled woods. The sharp slap of bullets splintering into the oak ripped through the air, shattering the smooth silence. Peter vaulted forward, the trees no more than blurs.

_Well there's definitely no going back now. _

He risked a peek behind him. The officers were stopped at the treeline, there eyes wearily scanning its contents. They didn't appear too enthused about heading into the thick underbrush, which worked out perfectly for Peter. A fatigued tremor ran through his muscles, hinting at the first signs of lethargy.

_I really can't pull these all nighters anymore. Either that or invest in Five Hour Energy. _

The soft chirp of crickets melded with a mild breeze, creating an earthy melody. Unfortunately the anticipation of conflict kept Peter on edge. His nerves buzzed with apprehensive excitement as the sound of sirens drew closer. Judging by the volume of them, the ambulance had to be a few minutes ahead of him. Fern colored branches of a melancholy weeping willow waved at Peter. He jumped through the tangle of limbs and quietly sat, his eyes coming to rest on a white and red panel. It was the ambulance, which was parked jaggedly in the middle of the road. Peter could just peer into the back of the vehicle, his gaze meeting that of a terrified middle aged man. He was hiding under a gurney, his blue medical gown covered with tears.

_Missing patient, check. Crazy driver? _

Peter nimbly landed on the ground before proceeding. He scanned the ambulance's driver side, eyeing the mirror. He could just see a head covered in red material. It was turned to the right, bobbing and banging to an unknown beat.

_Alrighty...this one definitely came from the mental ward._

He gently placed his right foot on the pavement, the ambulance now in full view. The shaken hostage caught sight of Peter and fell back, his head bumping into the top of the gurney. Peter winced, his eyes darting to the front of the ambulance. The suspect didn't seem to notice. He even turned the music up, the lyrics evading Peter as he finally made his way to the back of the ambulance. He gently took hold of the handles, pressing one finger to his mouth as the hostage watched, frozen. The sun had sluggishly crawled its way above the horizon, bathing everything in mild warmth. Peter could see much farther than before, but that didn't benefit him when both the suspect and police were out of site. He cautiously pulled the doors open, his pulse racing. Cool air rushed to greet him along with a lite medicinal smell. A small whimper escaped the cowering man, but Peter waved it off. He outreached his hand, motioning with his head towards the outside of the vehicle.

_Hopefully this guy understands body language. _

The man blankly stared back at Peter, his eyes full of confusion and mistrust. Peter couldn't blame him. It's not every day that you get kidnapped in an ambulance and then saved by a guy dressed in colorful spandex. The man continued to hover around the gurney, his pale hands clinging tightly to the metal rails. Again, Peter motioned towards himself, his eyes nervously darting to the front of the ambulance. They didn't have the time to sit around and play charades, but Peter didn't want to grab the man. He couldn't risk causing any panic. Peter took a step back, his hand still outstretched.

"The police are this way." he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The man's eyes lit up and he nodded vigorously, carefully making his way towards Peter. His bare feet shuffled across the metal floor, occasionally leaving spatters of blood. Peter winced as he noticed a sparkling array of needles and glass shards littered across the floor.

_Definitely not getting in that way…_

He was snapped out of his thoughts as the man suddenly lurched forward, a startled yelp escaping him as his right foot snagged on a stray gauze kit. Peter lunged forward, immediately catching him. The gauze kit clattered against the door panel, scattering a few pieces of debri. Both men froze, their hearts pounding in their ears. At any moment the suspect could turn around and spray them with bullets, ending them at their most vulnerable moment. Peter was well aware of this possibility. He quickly swallowed the paralyzing fear that gripped his limbs and pulled the man out of the ambulance. If the SWAT team really was coming in fifteen minutes, then he had to hurry up. The man winced slightly as his feet touched the pavement. Peter took notice.

"Can you walk?"

"I-I think so. Who the hell are you?"

Peter ignored the question for the time being and aided the man to the edge of the road. He glanced back every so often, still amazed that the suspect hadn't noticed anything. The man began to stray to the right, his limp naturally swaying him in that direction. Peter pulled him close, his muscles aching.

"Keep walking straight, like this. He might be able to see you in the mirrors."

A terrified look crossed the man's face, but he sharply nodded his head.

Peter continued, now stopped at the beginning of the forest.

"The police are just beyond the trees. Walk as far as you can before calling for help. I "don't want to risk him knowing where you are."

Peter began to turn around but a harsh grip on his shoulder stopped him. The man was holding him back, his eyes full of amazement.

"Who the hell are you?" he again questioned, his tone quiet.

Peter smirked slightly.

"Just your friendly neighborhood Spiderman."

The name held no recognition to the man as evidenced by the blank look on his face, but Peter didn't mind. That was definitely the least of his worries. He finally turned around and again approached the ambulance, this time tensing for a fight. The comforting weight of his web shooters on his wrists calmed Peter's immediate nervousness. He had remembered to fill them before leaving the house, and by the feel of it they were at least three fourths of the way full. A sharp snap rang out behind him, causing him to whirl around. He caught sight of a blue medical gown stumbling through the forest, stepping on everything in sight. Peter winced, but he was relieved. The man seemed to be moving just fine on his own, which meant he would be nowhere near the ambulance when Peter took down the suspect.

_Speaking of…_

He eyed the front of the ambulance, the ajar back doors still not alerting the driver. A steady thrum of adrenaline settled itself into Peter's veins as he inched forward, his eyes locked onto the target.

_This has to be one of the dimmest guys yet… Easy take down? I think yes._

As the back of the ambulance drew closer, Peter could again hear loud music blasting through the air. He had been too focused to bother with what it was, but now that the victim was rescued he could devote more time to his surroundings. A few select words became clear as he focused.

"If you wanna be my lover," a female vocal sang sweetly. "You gotta get with my "friends. Make it last forever-"

Peter frowned, disbelief written all over his face.

_Is that...Spice Girls?_ He thought dumbfoundedly.

Before he could continue assessing what he was hearing a male voice blurted out lyrics, his voice painfully high pitched.

"FRIENDSHIP NEVER E-ENDS!"

Peter drew closer, just making out the back of a head. It was covered in a grimy red fabric, bobbing in time to the beat. The female vocals continued on, much to Peter's dismay.

"If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give. Taking is too easy-"

"BUT THAT'S THE WAY IT IIIII-IS."

Peter simply shook his head, a small amount of amusement bubbling up. Obviously this guy wasn't as much of a threat as he previously thought. He was now at the back of the ambulance, taking a second to peer through a narrow window that separated passenger and driver. The suspect continued to remain oblivious, head bobbing in time with the beat. He continued to peer through the gap, taking notice of the fist sized crack along the lower left corner of the glass.

_I could try to grab him with my webs, but that isn't a very forgiving space to shoot through. Maybe a more direct approa-_

Peter quickly ducked to the left side of the ambulance as the suspect abruptly looked behind him, eyes narrowing. Surprise raced through him as he caught a quick glance of the suspect. The guy was wearing the same costume as the vandal shot at the Daily Bugle, albeit a more tattered version.

_Great. Now there's a gang of psychotic, Mexican food hating cosplayers running around. I just can't catch a break._

Peter pressed himself flat against the ambulance, nervously listening for any sound of alarm. The music continued to play, offering no signs of disturbance. A quiet sigh of relief escaped Peter as he held his position. Muscles burned with insistent bite, reminding him of his fatigue. A strong tremor rattled Peter's limbs, causing him to sway.

_I have to wrap this guy up soon. _He thought worriedly.

He shot a quick glance to the large mirrors fixed on the driver side door, now gleaming brightly in the morning sun. The reflecting light assaulted Peter's eyes, making him wince. There was no way he was going to be able to grab the suspect if he couldn't see him. He lowered his body towards the ground and out of the rebounding beam's path, allowing him to glance upwards at the driver side window. It was rolled down a few inches, music still spilling through the air. From Peter's angle he could only see a small portion of the steering wheel and headrest, leaving him with no idea where the suspect was.

_Alright. Definitely not any closer to catching him. _Peter thought with frustration.

The not so distant sound of sirens quickly caught his attention, pushing panic through his veins.

_The SWAT team can't be too far out. Five or six minutes… I have to do something now!_

Peter eyed the chrome door handle, his mind churning out plans. He couldn't just run up and open the door. His chest would be vulnerable to whatever weapon the suspect might have. On the other hand, he couldn't go through the back due to all the sharp debris, and the passenger side of the ambulance would be even more dangerous due to the extra space he'd have to drag the suspect across.

_Hold on. I could use my web shooters to wrap him up before he has a chance to blink. I'll just open the door with a string of web first…_

Peter took a deep breath, his hands shaky. It was do or die. There was no more room for try. He lifted his right arm, aiming his web shooter at the door handle. All he needed to do was open the door with a quick snap of his wrist, wait for the suspect to come into view, and cover him in webs. A quiet moment passed, allowing Peter much needed peace. With a fluid motion he pressed his middle and ring finger to the trigger located on his palm, releasing a fine jet of web fluid. It stuck to the door handle with a satisfying thwack. Peter wasted no time and pulled the door open with a strong yank, his arms trembling. The door swung wide, exposing the driver to the cool morning air. A flutter of nervousness settled into Peter's stomach as he shifted his weight onto his back legs, preparing to spring if necessary. His hand was pointed ahead, muscles tense.

_Any second now…_

He waited. Waited. Continued to wait. Peter frowned, uncertainty settling into his thoughts.

_Any second? Hello?_

He slowly crawled forward, his ears perked. He was sure the suspect was in this ambulance, and even if he wasn't Peter's Spidey Sense would alert him to any immediate danger. There wasn't anything to worry about. The clean grey upholstery of the driver's seat caught Peter's attention. It grew closer and closer as he inched ahead, finally coming into full view. Confusion raced through Peter as he eyed the seat, completely devoid of its driver. Lyrics of the song blasted at Peter, causing him to wince.

"I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want. So tell me what you want, what you "really, really want. I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha)."

Peter reached to turn off the radio, but suddenly his Spidey Sense assaulted him. He spun around, a pit of dread settling in his stomach. What greeted him was the barrel of a jet black Glock 19, cocked and fully loaded. Beyond that was a man covered head to toe in a black and red costume, his white eyes narrowed. Peter swallowed hard, his eyes widening with recognition. The man simply tilted his head to the side, voice speaking in a sinister purr.

"Hello Spidey."


	7. Kick Like a Quesarito

Peter was frozen, his heart pounding wildly. The suspect had been in the ambulance a minute ago… There was no way he could have gotten out without him noticing. The suspect suddenly spoke.

"Hello? Anyone home? Earth to Spiderman?"

The man waved the gun around, allowing Peter a second to collect his composure. He carefully chose his words, tone calm and quiet.

"If you put the gun down now, no one has to-"

"Pleeeaaaaaase. I've heard that one five times today. What else you got?"

Peter was taken aback. He struggled to speak, his throat dry. He raised his hands in a defensive manner, taking an experimental step towards the suspect.

"Look. There are nice policemen coming that will take you back to the hospital. If you can just hand me that thing you have there…"

"What? This?"

The suspect took a step back, keeping the barrel locked onto Peter's chest. He continued to wave it left and right, making Peter cringe.

"Yeah no I think I'm going to hold onto this one Spider-Pal." He frowned. "You haven't even asked me my name. Who raised you? Taskmaster?"

Peter paid little attention to the man's words. He was more focused on the quarter sized hole in the man's costume. The crimson fabric around it was stained a dark ruby hue. He definitely noticed it the second he saw it, but he never thought it would be in the exact same place as the costume the victim was wearing. It had to be the same get up. Before he could continue his thought process, the man brashly introduced himself.

"I," he said loudly, "am Deadpool. Merc with a Mouth. Badass mothefucker numero uno and versatile lover to many."

Peter simply stood there, a look of utter disbelief hidden behind his mask.

_Versatile lover…?_ He simply shook his head.

"Alright...Deadpool. I'm not going to ask again. Put the gun down and come quietly or else."

Deadpool simply snorted.

"This conversation has officially hit a loop. Let me spice things up a little."

With that, Deadpool tossed the gun to the side. It clattered against the pavement before coming to a halt. Peter wasted no time and slung three lines of web around Deadpool, the heavy duty material binding his arms together.

"Well god damn at least let me get a word out before we move on to bondage."

Deadpool squinted down at the sticky ropes.

"Is...is this stuff coming out of you?" He asked in a disgusted manner.

Peter was meanwhile glancing around for a sturdy object to tether Deadpool to. There were a few trees, maybe the ambulance door… A sharp snapping sound followed by his Spider Sense sent Peter into a panic. He vaulted to the left, now hidden behind the left side of the ambulance. From the small gap between the ambulance and the ground Peter could see his web falling to the pavement, tears evident on its surface.

_He's strong enough to break through my webbing? This guy is not a normal human._

The sharp crack of a bullet hurtling through the air caused Peter to jump. He froze, hearing perked and limbs locked into place.

"Come on Spider Guy! I just want to have a chat. Quick conversation. Nice little talk…"

Peter eyed Deadpool's feet before glancing over at the spare gun. Its dull, onyx shell lazily winked at him in the morning light. With a flick of his wrist, a long, fine string of web landed smack on the barrel. Another fluid motion and it was in Peter's hands. He swallowed hard, unsure of what to do with it. Deadpool had turned towards the spot where the gun used to be, alerted by the sound,

"I don't take you for a gun kind of guy Spidey. I could always be wrong...but Deadpool has a way with these things."

Deadpool's voice trailed off as he approached Peter, his gait slow and deliberate.

"Look kid, I have places to go. Things to eat. An entire season of Lost to pirate off the internet. Let's make this quick."

_I need to get out of here now._ Peter thought sharply.

He rolled to his right, tucking himself under the ambulance. He laid the gun down a few feet in front of him, finding no use for it. Deadpool's footsteps drew closer before finally approaching. Peter watched as the red and black booties stopped in front of him before turning in circles. Deadpool's confused mumbles barely reached Peter's ears, but it didn't matter to him in the slightest. As soon as Deadpool's feet were pointed in the opposite direction, Peter reached out and grabbed an ankle with an iron grip.

"What the hell-"

Deadpool's question was interrupted as Peter yanked with all his might, dragging Deadpool down onto the pavement. He hit it with a loud smack, head snapping back a second later. Peter watched as Deadpool's movements became sluggish. His second hand gun clattered away.

_Alright web him up. Ask him what the hell he wants with Spiderman and call it a day. SWAT is probably around the corner…_

Peter shambled out from under the ambulance.

_LAST time I'm doing that._

He then stood above Deadpool, arms crossed. The mercenary was attempting to grab a medium sized combat knife from his right utility pocket. He swiped at it a few times, missing. Peter simply pinned Deadpool's arms to the pavement with a few well placed strands of web, making sure to add extra this time.

"What do you want with me?" He asked sternly.

Deadpool wiggled around for a minute, still attempting to regain his bearings. Peter shook his head before moving away, the distant sound of sirens reminding him of how little time he had. Both of his legs trembled as he walked. They gave ever so slightly as he applied pressure, threatening to buckle under excess exertion. A strangled wheeze crawled through the air, causing Peter to look behind his shoulder. Deadpool was struggling to raise his head in Peter's direction, his entire body shaking.

"W..wait." He choked.

Peter cautiously returned to him, worry settling into his stomach.

_I didn't pull him that hard, did I?_

"Come...closer."

His rasping tone barely reached Peter's ears. Peter inched forward, now hovering over Deadpool's chest. He leaned in, focusing on Deadpool's words.

"I," He coughed harshly, "I-" His tone reached a new peak of desperation, drawing Peter in even further. Suspenseful seconds passed as Deadpool's labored breathing filled the air. It wasn't long before he finally managed to squeeze out one solemn, tear soaked sentence.

"I'm pregnant."

Peter froze, mind blank.

_What the actual hell…_

Unfortunately, he wasn't able to ponder the announcement long. Deadpool quickly followed up, his voice suddenly full of energy.

"Surprise Baby Daddy!" He exclaimed as he launched his right foot into Peter's jaw.

Peter was thrown back a few feet before consequently landing in the rear of the ambulance. Shards of debri tore at his costume as he slammed into the gurney, limbs tangling with disorientation. Deadpool wasn't far behind. He recovered a handgun and took aim, moving towards Peter as he fired. The sharp clap of a bullet leaving its barrel ripped through the air. Peter's Spider Sense gave a dire warning and he took note. With a strong shove he pushed off the gurney and stuck onto the right wall. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite quick enough. The bullet tore through the side of Peter's left bicep, eliciting a pained yelp. He barely took another breath before he shot a gob of web into the barrel of Deadpool's gun, effectively jamming it. Deadpool cursed and moved for his katanas, a deep glare etched onto his face. Police sirens were growing in volume, promising a nasty end to their brawl. Peter quickly shot off a line of webbing, which landed in the exact center of Deadpool's chest. The glint of one of Deadpool's katanas caught Peter's eye and he yanked on the line of web, sending Deadpool crashing into the right side ambulance door. Deadpool grunted, vision now constantly blurry.

_Now's my chance._ Peter thought.

He attempted to prop himself further up on the wall, but with a violent tremor his legs and arms gave out. A stab of shock ran through him as his shoulder slammed into the ground. A hypodermic needle then happily embedded itself inches into Peter's bruised flesh, sending stinging pain lancing up and down his arm. He struggled to get off his knees, his head hung low and breathing labored.

_In this state… I don't know if I can win this fight…_

Peter was snapped out of his thoughts as Deadpool stepped into the ambulance. He vigorously shook his head back and forth, katana in hand.

"Shit. Spidey's got a bit of kick to him. Fiery Ghost Pepper Griller kick. Volcano Quesarito kick. Ghost Pepper Fries-"

The sound of a large engine roaring to life caught both of their attentions. Reverberations shook the cabin of the ambulance, boasting origins from a monstrous vehicle. Peter's stomach dropped as he realized just what was creating such intimidating sounds. The Lenco BEAR. One of the world's top performing SWAT vehicles. With a capacity for fifteen fully equipped officers, Optional Ram device, and feet of bulletproof armor it's every criminal's worst nightmare. Peter knew that he had to familiarize himself with the tools of New York's finest, but he never expected them to have a mini tank roaming around.

"Jesus it looks like a Transformer fucked a school bus." Deadpool openly gawked.

Peter clenched his jaw, anger boiling in him as the mercenary continued with his immature comments. He had never met anyone so childish… even Flash knew when to call it quits. Granted it took him a little longer than others… The roar of the BEAR's engine grew closer, instilling panic in both men. Peter's attempts to stand doubled, resulting in little to no progress. Deadpool, meanwhile, was glancing back and forth between impending doom and his target, trying to decide which would offer the most entertainment. His eyes widened as an idea popped into his head, quickly approved by the two other voices occupying the same space. He launched himself towards the front of the ambulance, aiming to squeeze through the tiny window ahead. Peter looked up, alarmed at Deadpool's sudden progress towards him.

_Crap! Gotta move gotta move. Come on._

His muscles frustratingly did not obey, barely affording him an inch or two of lift. Deadpool was drawing closer, his arms outstretched. Peter could feel his stomach drop, his mind racing.

_I can't fight back...I'm stuck here. If I don't get up-_

His train of thought was cut short as Deadpool flew past him and into the window, glass shattering in a glittery array. His head and top of his shoulders made it through before the restrictive space stopped further progress. Peter stared at Deadpool, who now had his ass waving in the air as he tried to wiggle through.

"Come on Wade. Get in there! Squeeeeeeeeeeeeze."

He panted, his feet kicking against the gurney. It consequently flew out of the ambulance and clattered onto the pavement, drawing more unwanted attention. Peter cringed, his eyes glued to the looming, grey vehicle. Red and blue lights flashed on its front grill, creating a menacing glare. A handful of SWAT officers had crowded around the massive tire wells and taken aim at the ambulance, proceeding alongside the slow moving vehicle. Peter couldn't see a single feature on their face save for the steely glint in each of their eyes. They were not going to let either of them lift so much as a finger. Peter glanced back at Deadpool, who was now starting to push himself through the window. His shoulders grew more and more strained.

"Just gotta squeeeEEEEEZEEEE!" Deadpool's voice grew into a shriek as both his shoulders dislocated.

Peter felt his stomach flip at the grotesque popping sound. It was surprising just how loud it was. Deadpool somehow continued on, just managing to fit through. He landed in the front with a loud thud before he scrambled to the front seat. Peter nervously called out to him, his eyes straying to the approaching SWAT team.

"What are you doing? SWAT is coming to get-"

"Can it web boy." Deadpool snapped. "I'm getting us out of here."

"You just tried to kill me!"

"Very true, but if the popo kills you before I do that means I don't get paid, and if Deadpool doesn't get paid then New York is going to have a very unhappy city."

Peter didn't even want to imagine what Deadpool's last sentence meant. All he knew was that he was stuck in an ambulance with his would be killer and being pursued by New York's deadliest law enforcement officers. Did he mention he was on the brink of passing out? The ambulance suddenly lurched forward, throwing Peter against the dividing wall. He let out a curse as his heavily wounded shoulder made contact. Small spatters of blood flecked across the white surface and rained onto the floor.

_Crap crap crap! If they take the time to test my blood then I'll definitely be caught. This will be the last thing Spiderman ever does if I don't find a solution._

Peter's Spider Sense kicked into overdrive as the sharp crack of bullets rang through the air. He huddled against the wall and watched as flashes of light danced between the barrels of the SWAT officer's guns. They ricocheted off the pavement, screaming at high speeds. Peter knew he was vulnerable, but he simply did not have the energy to move. The ambulance began to pick up speed. Debri slid out of the back, littering the road with nameless sharp objects. The doors swung violently as Peter struggled to stay in his position.

_They aren't aiming at me...The tires. They have to be aiming at the tires._

Peter was taking no chances. With the small amount of strength he had left, he slung two webs at the ambulance doors. They hit their target and stuck, allowing him to yank the doors closed. A satisfying click announced that they were locked, affording Peter some shelter from the line of fire. He could feel the ambulance's speed continue to increase, worrying him. It wouldn't take long before SWAT completely destroyed the tires, and if they had a monumental blowout at high speeds… Peter briskly dismissed the thought before turning his attention to Deadpool. He inched towards the completely shattered window, eyeing the mercenary at the wheel. Deadpool's arms were thrown limply on it. No doubt useless.

"Hey!" He shouted, voice hoarse.

Deadpool glanced back at him, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah yeah. I'll get to you in a minute. Just let me...Oh shit."

Peter's ears perked up.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing! Nothing. Just a little bend in the road… That's what breaks are for!"

Peter immediately braced for the stop, his muscles cramping tight. He gritted his teeth as pain lit up his body. His vision blurred, threatening a black out. A few seconds passed and the ambulance showed no sign of slowing, confusing Peter.

"Brakes?" He questioned loudly. "Why aren't you breaking?"

"Jesus you are the worst backseat driver!"

"I think I'm allowed to complain when we're barreling towards imminent death! Or maybe I can complain about the countless times you've tried to kill me. I have a lot "of options at the moment, but if you could just stop the ambulance-"

"I CAN'T STOP DAMMIT. Something's lodged behind the pedal."

Peter's blood froze. He struggled for words, heart racing.

"Can't you just remove it?"

Deadpool smacked his head against the wheel and turned to eye Peter, a glare on his face.

"Do my arms look mobile to you?"

A barrage of bullets suddenly pierced through the back of the ambulance. Holes seemed to appear out of nowhere as the ammunition sprayed across the cabin and into the front seats. Peter hurled himself against the floor and flattened as far as his body would allow. The fire continued on for a few seconds, but stopped as the ambulance suddenly lurched forward. Peter felt the vehicle picking up speed at a rapid pace, far faster than before.

"Just take your foot off the gas!" He shouted, panic racing through him.

"Ssssso-metherinng….hhitt spinee." Deadpool slurred.

Peter barely understood the incoherent jumble, but when he turned and got a good look at Deadpool everything became clear. A gunshot wound was precisely over the center of Deadpool's back, a few fragments of bone visible.

_No._ Peter thought, his heart dropping. _This can't be happening._

With Deadpool immobile at the wheel and Peter trapped in the back, there was nothing stopping the ambulance from careening off the road.

It did just that.

The smooth surface offered by the asphalt suddenly gave way and the ambulance shook violently as it hurtled across uneven grass. Up ahead lay a steep gorge, which was deep enough to warrant a danger sign. It took mere seconds for the ambulance to throw itself off of the grass and nose dive towards the center of the gorge. Peter nearly let out a startled cry as he was suddenly weightless. His stomach was sent into mortifying flips as his body plummeted towards the earth. He shot off a web in a ditch attempt to tether himself to the vehicle, but it was too late. The hood of the ambulance smashed into the sodden earth with an ear shattering bang, violently bashing its contents into near surfaces. Peter felt himself fly towards the front of the ambulance with terrifying speed before he too slammed into it. His body rattled harshly and his head connected with the edge of a cabinet, sending a sweeping curtain of blackness over his consciousness.


	8. Hakuna Matata

Deadpool groggily opened his eyes, wincing at the thick grey smoke that stung them. He carefully peeled himself off of the steering wheel, vision blurred by steady streams of blood. A sharp throbbing had settled into the back of his skull, followed by stinging pain from cuts littered across his body. He took in his surroundings. The dashboard was smashed up against Deadpool's chest with the steering wheel practically inside his ribs. A looming wall of viscous mud had replaced the windshield, now laying in pieces on the floor. Heavy scents of gasoline and burnt rubber permeated the air, causing Deadpool's nose to twitch.

{It smells like that one time we blew up a taco truck! Minus the burnt flesh.}

[What a waste of tortillas…]

He struggled against the seat. The seat belt had become entangled with a thin strip of metal, leaving him stuck. Deadpool violently shook up and down before he sat still, contemplating life. He repeated the process at least six times until his well spoken alter ego had enough.

[For the love of god will you STOP. Try something else.]

"Well what the hell did you have in mind?" He snapped.

[Grab a katana. There's one on your right.]

He glanced over and sure enough it was laying on the floor, covered in bits of charred upholstery. He stretched out his arm, fingers barely brushing the blade. It was too far up. Deadpool huffed in exasperation before searching around for a reclining lever.

"Come on come on. Where is that little shit… Bingo!"

With a sharp tug he attempted to recline his seat, which generously moved back a half inch.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He shouted.

{Economy class on American Airlines. one time.}

[No…]

{With the giraffe? You know?}

"Shut it. Daddy needs some alone time."

Deadpool let out a sigh, his eyes roaming around the destroyed front seats. There was nothing else usable within his reach and if the increasing black plumes of smoke weren't telling him anything, then the small flames dancing inside the crumpled hood were. He decided to focus on grabbing the katana seeing as no other options were presenting themselves. Again, he stretched his right arm. His muscles strained under the exertion, lengthening themselves to the fullest. Sweat beaded on his forehead before absorbing into his suit. The temperature was definitely climbing. Deadpool coughed, his lungs beginning to fill with the noxious fumes.

"Toasty." He murmured, eyes locked onto the wayward sword.

His fingers inched closer, finally coming into contact with the razor sharp edge. He knew how screwed his hand was if he picked it up by the blade, but the hilt was far out of reach. With a deep breath and a repeated mantra of _Fuck it _Deadpool lunged forward and snatched up his katana. It sliced into his palm like butter, stopping only when it hit bone.

{OUCHIE OUCH OUCH. That's the pointy end! We're not supposed to pick up the pointy end!}

Deadpool ignored the comment. The small flames that previously occupied the hood had migrated to the dashboard, growing in size. A constant crackling noise had settled into the air.

"Alright Wade. Completely charred or lightly singed?"

{Charred!}

[I prefer lightly singed.]

"Let's go with that" He concluded.

Deadpool quickly flipped his katana and grabbed the hilt, ignoring the gush of blood that spurted between his fingers. He then pointed it towards the seat belt buckle, hoping to sever the belt at its source.

"Here's to not becoming a pot sticker!" He shouted before violently thrusting the blade downwards.

It easily cut the belt, lightly grazing Deadpool's skin. He wasted no time resuming his attempts at escape, but he only freed his upper body. The strip of metal that had tangled with the seat belt extended past his torso, effectively locking him into place.

"Oh for fucks sake-"

He jammed the katana under the thinnest part and began to push up, utilizing the sword as a lever. The metal budged ever so slightly. With Deadpool's strength it was definitely moveable, but the impending fire didn't exactly give him all the time in the world. It had hastily grown into a formidable blaze and Deadpool was definitely feeling the heat. A rebellious spark jumped away from the safety of its bright, orange siblings and clung to his foot, singing the material a nasty brown color. It rapidly adjusted to its new home before swelling into a small flame. His efforts doubled as his skin began to curdle.

"Crispy." He muttered behind grated teeth.

With one last shove, the obstruction clattered away into the fire. Deadpool immediately pulled himself out of the seat and onto the floor. He looked ahead and through the dividing window. The floor was slanted upwards due to the ambulance's diagonal position, but he could just make out an arm. A few pieces of glass were sticking out and a large tear ran from the elbow to the pinky finger. Blood trickled along the tan flesh, which was eerily still.

[Well. At least that's taken care of.]

{I'd check him. We've put bullets in guys before that end up stabbing us in the ass. Remember Costa Rica?}

[What are you even talking about. Costa Rica never happened-]

{IT DID IN MY DREAMS. It did in my dreams…}

Deadpool crawled on his elbows, sweeping them forward to avoid pricking himself with debris. Plumes of smoke curled upwards, eventually gliding through the small window. The fire was going to consume everything in its path. The only escape route was up, so he figured he might as well check on Spidey on the way out. He finally made it to the window, which mercifully had grown bigger due to a tear in the metal. A small AED cabinet offered foothold for Deadpool to again shove himself through the window and into the back of the ambulance. He got a good look at Spidey, and it was an ugly site. He was face down with his left arm folded under his head and right arm outstretched. His legs were singed and littered with glass, each one resting in a pile of the unforgiving material. Deadpool let out a low whistle as he scanned the rest of Peter's costume, marveling at the amount of tears that ruined its surface.

"You look like you've been in a blender. One Spider-Smoothie coming right up." Deadpool shook his head in an almost disappointed manner, his tone pitying.

[He's dead.]

"He's definitely dead."

{You never know… Just give him a little poke.}

Deadpool leaned forward and with the butt of his katana shoved Peter in the head. No response. He then lifted Peter's right arm in the air. It flopped back down with a soft thud, eliciting no reaction. Normally Deadpool would have called it quits there, but something nagged at him. Gently, he picked up Peter's wrist and removed his glove. He ripped the web shooter off before taking two fingers and laying them in its place, checking for a pulse. Nothing… There was nothing-

And then he felt it.

A small, weak flutter beneath his fingers.

"Sweet baby Jesus on a stick…" He whispered in awe.

{SEE. I told you. He's still alive. Alive.}

[We could have left him with the fire. It would have made no difference. We're wasting time]

Deadpool did not expect the menacing growl that encased his last thoughts words. He never took it as malicious commentary… He shook off the thought before eyeing Peter. His contract stated that he kill Spiderman. Clear and simple. The opportunity was sitting right in front of him. There was no reason for him to do otherwise. The weight of his katana felt light in his hand as he carefully slid it under Peter's throat, serrated edge up.

[Just a little bit of pressure and he'll bleed out. Nothing to it.]

Deadpool flexed his arm, preparing for a quick incision.

{WAIT. WAIT A MINUTE}

He rolled his eyes, frustration beginning to take hold.

"What now?"

{Remember that _idea _we had earlier? The reason why we went all grand theft auto instead of skewering Spidey?}

Deadpool paused, his mind racing to remember anything before the crash. If finally hit him.

"Maaaaaaybe…" He drawled.

[You can't be serious. You cannot be serious.]

"Just maaaaaybe..."

[THAT WILL NEVER WORK-]

"Fuck it let's do it."

Deadpool reached forward and wrapped his arms around Peter's shoulders, hoisting him above his head. He then slung him over his shoulder fireman style and proceeded to climb towards the ambulance doors. Waves of heat lapped at his feet as he struggled to overcome the incline, which was made considerably harder with an extra one hundred sixty seven pounds added on. He glanced down, a mild amount of surprise running through him as he realized just how far the fire had spread. It was now eagerly reaching through the window, long tendrils stretching for sustenance. Deadpool was only halfway to the exit and it didn't look like he was going to make it.

"Okay maybe this isn't going to work out after all."

Despite the grim situation Deadpool continued to climb, never giving up on his peculiar idea. The doors of the ambulance were mostly intact with only a few cracks along the glass. He couldn't see much beyond the piles of dirt nestled against its surface. An ominous creak abruptly shook the vehicle, drawing away Deadpool's attention. He froze, eyes darting around.

"Alright. What the hell."

[We're on a mud hill moron. What did you think would happen?]

{We're at the bottom of it! Ain't no prob-}

The ambulance shuddered violently, a metallic groan rumbling up from underneath his feet. He lurched back a few inches, nearly tumbling back into the fire. It was then that Deadpool noticed a light pattering sound coming from outside.

"Rain…" He mumbled, ears perked.

[Exactly. Rain equals mud. Mud equals no traction. No traction equals slipping ties, and slipping tires equals-]

"Falling ambulance." Deadpool whispered.

He quickly lurched forward in a bid to reach the doors. Sure, Deadpool wouldn't mind the ambulance completely crashing into the ditch. He simply wasn't a fan of falling Scar style into pillars of searing flames. His sudden movement sent the ambulance crawling forward, gravity pulling him back towards imminent incineration. Peter's arms dangled limply and he slid further towards the ground as Deadpool's grip began to weaken.

[Drop the package.]

Deadpool hesitated, again struggling with his options. It _was_ a great idea, but if he couldn't get Spidey out in one piece then he might as well fall back on his contract. The right side ambulance door suddenly swung open, revealing a sliver of cloudy grey sky. Layers of mud sloughed off the hill and sluggishly made their way towards the ravine. Not the most forgiving terrain to climb, but the glimpse offered Deadpool a bit of hope.

"Hakuna matata…" He sung quietly as he carefully made his way up and out of the ambulance.

With his free hand he grabbed onto an exposed root, meanwhile avoiding the sharp twists of metal littered across the floor. The ambulance was sliding away much faster, but the fire was still growing closer. It had fully made its way through the window. Long, searing tendrils ran along the floor of the ambulance, charring its surface black. Deadpool glanced behind him, eyebrows raised.

"It means no worries-" He gingerly pulled on the root, lifting his upper body out of the ambulance.

"For the rest of your days…"

Deadpool placed one foot on the rubber step leading into the back, slowly pushing up. He was now completely out of the ambulance, but the struggle wasn't over yet. The sifting muck granted no purchase for Deadpool's next step, which sadly sunk into it with a sickening schlep. Regardless, he continued to pull himself and Peter upwards. Rain pelted into Deadpool's wounds, adding an intense stinging pain to his already aching body. He bit his lower lip and continued on, adding a few feet between him and the ambulance.

[Clean up? Remember? God I hate reminding you.]

{Got it!}

Deadpool took a moment to check the contents of his belt, noting a M67 grenade sloppily tucked into the right side. He removed it and brought it up to his face, eyeing the baseball like explosive.

"It's our problem free…"

Without a second thought he pulled the pin, dropping the grenade down through the window and into the front of the ambulance. It fell through the fire and clinked against the dashboard, failing to detonate on impact. Deadpool was far from worried. He knew the backup pyrotechnic delay function would induce explosion within three to seven seconds. How many seconds he actually had was anyone's guess. As Deadpool attempted to jump a few feet to his right, his grip on the root loosened. He felt his body begin to lean back, threatening to tumble into a soon to be annihilated vehicle.

"Philosophy!" He sang in a shrill voice.

Luckily, he was able to find a basketball sized rock through blind kicking. With due promptness he slammed his foot on top of the slick surface and launched himself. Peter, unconscious for the entire performance, was flung against the wall of mud. He tumbled down into the ravine, limp as a rag doll. Deadpool wasn't far behind. He threw himself on top of Peter just in time for the grenade to violently rip apart the front of the ambulance. A deafening roar thundered through the air as the fire and gas tank came together in unholy matrimony, creating a second explosion. The ambulance was ripped into two pieces; the front completely gutted by flames and the back decimated by shrapnel. Deadpool winced as a spray of jagged metal bits embedded themselves into his flesh. Back muscles strained under hairline tears, each threatening to rip entirely. He simply rolled over and propped himself on his elbows. A low whistle escaped him as he viewed his handy work.

"Hakuna matata." He hoarsely murmured.

The gentle sprinkling of rain had transitioned into a heavy curtain, completely soaking both Deadpool and Peter. They were covered in a plethora of open wounds, a select few packed with mud. Peter had begun to shake violently, indicating a mild case of hypothermia. Deadpool simply glanced over at him, too tired to care.

[He's practically dead. There's no way he's going to make it back to the sewer-]

{_Apartment. _It's out _apartment._}

[The Ninja Turtles had a better pad than that crap covered-]

"Alright alright. Work on the home living aspect. Send a letter to Martha Stewart. I got it."

With a loud groan Deadpool got to his feet. Rivulets of blood snaked crimson trails down his costume, virtually indistinguishable from the fabric. He hobbled over to Peter and again slung him over his shoulder.

"I hope you've been taking your Flinstone Vitamins Spidey."

Deadpool then cast a curious glance towards the top of the hill. It was a steep one, offering little clue as to what was at its precipice. The fact that there was absolutely no one there surprised him.

"Really? They went out of their way to bring Optimus Prime's love child and they don't even check to see if we're alive? I'm hurt."

He resorted to a shake of the head before limping on. A discouraging rumble shook the sky, causing him to look up. Dark grey clouds swelled together and stuffed the sky with ill intentions. Flashes of lightning could be seen in the distance. Deadpool let out an irritated huff, choosing to keep quiet. There was no telling what kind of people were still hanging around after that chase.

[Probably ones with guns.]

He paused, thought about it, and then vigorously nodded his head. Smart Deadpool was always right, even when he was dead wrong. With that Deadpool wandered into the murky horizon; grumbling to himself as Peter struggled to stay alive.


	9. Pancake Resignation

An insistent ticking was the first thing to surface in Peter's consciousness. He slowly turned his head to the left, still struggling to shake off the last dregs of lethargy. Black dots madly danced across his vision as he opened his eyes. Piercing white light filtered into view, causing Peter to wince in pain. There was no warning as a crippling migraine suddenly slammed into his temples. Bile quickly rose up in his throat as nausea settled in. He promptly shut his eyes.

_Don't get sick don't get sick. Deep breaths._

The nausea passed after a few minutes, allowing Peter to finally look around. The ticking noise had not ceased and it didn't take long for him to find its source. An Adventure Time hand watch was sitting face down on an old, rusted metal night stand. Vibrant colors added to the throbbing in Peter's head.

_Not the kind of merchandise I want to be looking at right now. _

As his mind finally began to gain some clarity, Peter realized he was laying down. He pushed his elbows back against the mystery surface, which gave slightly. A rasping noise was the response. It sounded to Peter as if he was lying on sheets. He let out a frustrated groan.

_Not another hospital visit...Aunt May is going to kill me._

Peter lay still for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts while fighting off his migraine. The last thing he remembered was leaving the house...what for was still out of his reach. The source of the light above became clear as hanging lamp sporadically flickered. He focused on it, a frown soon forming.

_The lighting in this hospital really needs a renovation. _

He again glanced over at the night stand, this time noting the old, beat up recliner sitting behind it. It was covered in a stain spattered plaid upholstery, which was dulled from years of use. Moldy yellow stuffing hung out of a huge hole in the right armrest. A fat black rat happily gnawed at the shiny foam, its beady black eyes staring at Peter with mild interest. Peter's frown did not cease and was now followed by intense confusion.

_Looks like I didn't get the suit room…_

He barely had a chance to continue thinking as his eyes darted around the room, soon landing on a two drawer dresser. The lilac paint was peeling across the entire surface, revealing worn wood. The white knobs were hanging in all different directions, promising little to no use. As he took in the sad excuse for furniture, he noticed a glove hanging out of the top drawer. Peter squinted, straining to see just what it was…

It hit him along with a wave of dread.

_Is that my glove? _

He peered at it further, catching the glint of a shiny, metallic surface.

_That's one of my web shooters! Crap this is not good._

Peter immediately yanked his hands to his sides, or at least he tried to. His attempt was halted by thick ropes of leather bound around his wrists. They held his hands tight against the headboard of the bed and dug into his skin, leaving irritated red welts along its wake. Peter stared the tense fabric, disbelief written all over his face. His expression took a turn for the worse when he finally took in the rest of his body. A countless number of cuts were strewn along it in merry disarray. Dried blood was smudged in every direction imaginable, appearing as if a five year old has used Peter's skin as canvas for finger painting. Peter wasn't sure what to be more concerned with; the fact that he was full of mysterious cuts or completely naked save for a pair of black spandex he certainly didn't remember putting on. As he fruitlessly yanked at his restraints a searing pain immediately settled into his left shoulder. A startled yelp escaped his lips and he winced, the intensity of it more than unwelcome.

_Shoulder is out of commission. Do not use shoulder._

He simply resorted to laying back against whatever he was on, mind racing as panic began to settle in. The light above acted as a focal point for Peter's thoughts, which flickered just as uncertainly. An annoying itch had settled onto the bridge of his nose and he soon found himself wiggling it intensely, a sigh of relief escaping him as he realized he still had his mask on. Carefully, he stretched out his injured shoulder, wincing as it again protested with sharp stings. Peter glanced down at his arm, a queasy sensation prickling at his skin as steady streams of blood bubbled from broken stitching. Frustration easily took hold as his foggy mind offered no explanation for the injury.

_Think! Why did we leave the house. There had to be some reason Spiderman was needed… _

Flashes of memory finally surfaced in his mind. A brilliant white smile, flowing branches, blue fabric, Spice Girls…

_Wait… _He thought, focusing on the last detail.

Spice Girls, ambulance, SWAT, suspect, red costume, Deadpool…

Peter sucked in a breath.

"Deadpool." He growled, his anger reaching new heights.

By now, everything had become clear to Peter. He knew exactly who had stolen the ambulance, given him a beating, and tied him up to a shoddy bed. Peter experimentally kicked his legs. They freely slid around, burdened by no restraints. His arms pulled as far as his pain tolerance would allow, and it wasn't long before the metal headboard began to creak. Peter stopped and glanced over his right shoulder, eyes landing on the leather cuff holding his wrist. It was certainly not going to give, but a loose screw connecting a bar of the headboard to the rest of its frame appeared hopeful. With the little strength he had, he began to yank his hand forwards. Biceps flexed into tightly packed muscle, burning with exertion. The creaking resumed, this time laced with sharp pops as the metal began to pull away. Peter gritted his teeth, eyes filling with involuntary tears as his sore muscles cramped.

_Just a little bit more...Come on…_

The bottom of the bar finally snapped out from its frame, nearly nicking Peter in the back of the head. He jerked forward, immediately sliding the cuff down and off the broken headboard. The noise ricocheted around the room, instilling panic in Peter. With gentle movements he opened and closed his hand, flexing the muscles in his arm. They were loath to relax from their cramped position, but time aided their condition. Peter glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the only door present. Calling it a door might have been a bit of a stretch. A scratch filled ping pong table was sloppily hinged onto a brick wall across from him. It appeared to be situated over a gaping hole, cracks branching out in every direction. Peter noted its location before focusing on his other hand, cursing quietly as his luck finally ran out. The cuff was firmly attached to the top of the headboard, which would not allow him to simply rip the bar out. He was going to have to either pull out the entire headboard or somehow break the top off. Peter again glanced around the room, nervously eyeing the door.

_I can't be too loud...that guy could be here. _

He drew his legs towards his chest and finally sat, his body turning towards his left hand. Ideas ran through his head as time languidly ticked by. He finally settled on one after eyeing a piece of broken glass not so far away from the left side of the bed.

_Alright. There's a nick near the cuff, if I can dig into it hard enough…_

Peter turned his attention back to the shard of debris, this time kicking his left leg towards it. It dangled uselessly on the edge of the bed, far from where it needed to be. He huffed, this time scooting closer. His free right hand allowed him to fully sit up, but his restricted left hand limited how far he could move off the bed. This ended up forcing Peter to use his feet as a method of retrieval. He struggled to reach it, limbs sprawling around like a newborn deer. It wasn't long before his foot gently brushed against the glass, moving it ever so slightly towards him.

_That's it. _He thought, nearly all of his concentration hinged on that one moment.

The tip of his toes pressed down against it, allowing him some grip. With baited breath, Peter quickly pulled his foot back towards him, the piece of glass skittering across the floor. It stopped an inch away from the side of the bed, just within reach of Peter's rip. He sighed in relief before quickly scooping it up. Insistent burn happily reacquainted itself with Peter's limbs. A small tremor ran up his left arm as he again faced the headboard, this time lining up the shard of glass to the indent. The metal was about as thick as a hose, instilling a bit of worry in Peter.

_If this isn't hollow then I'm going to be here for a while._

With one last glance around the room he swung his hand downwards, the shard of glass cutting into his skin. A loud clang reverberated around him as the headboard caved under the force of his blow. Peter winced as cuts opened up along his right palm, spilling blood on the sheets below.

_Think about Aunt May, Gwen, Harry, anything. It's hollow so just a little more…_

He continued to press down, nearly smacking his head on the wall as the metal finally snapped. With little hesitation he yanked the cuff off of the broken headboard, finally free of his restraints. Much to Peter's surprise, no one had come to investigate the racket he had created. He dismissed the thought before promptly sliding off the bed, cradling his right hand. The gash peered at him with a bleary red eye, slowly dripping crimson tears. It didn't appear to be serious, but using that hand wasn't going to be easy. Peter took a minute to further observe his environment. Brick walls surrounded him in a small box, offering no form of escape save for the door. Tangles of grimy pipes snaked across the cement ceiling, down the right wall, and into various spots on the floor. As silence enveloped him, Peter could faintly hear the sound of water trickling. He frowned, eyebrows furrowing.

_From what I can hear, I'd say I'm underground. Maybe an old subway station?_

Peter quietly wandered towards the dresser he saw earlier, hoping to get some use out of his web shooter. Unfortunately, it didn't take long for him to realize both it and his glove were shredded beyond usefulness. A nervous flutter settled into Peter's stomach as he continued on. He knew facing Deadpool with no weapons was suicidal, but standing around half naked in a room wasn't going to help either. He needed to get through that door and find a way out. The cold floor sent chills up his bare feet as made his way towards the door. Candy wrappers coated with sugar clung to his toes, nearly making Peter gag with disgust. The entire room was littered with all kinds of trash and he was more than happy to leave it behind him. A few more seconds of walking and he was finally at the door, nerves buzzing with apprehension. There was no telling what was behind it, good or bad.

_Anything but Deadpool. _He thought tiredly.

With his uninjured hand Peter gently pushed on the ping pong table, bracing for what was to come. The makeshift door barely moved a few inches, revealing nothing more than a sliver of the room ahead. Peter cautiously peaked his head around the door frame, noting the sizzling sound permeating the air. A familiar smell of baking flour and sugar reached his nose and he couldn't help but groan inwardly.

_I feel like I haven't eaten in years. _

He let the thought dissipate as his eyes wandered around, noticing a bright pink inflatable couch located in the center of his vision. It was accompanied by a dated box TV situated on its cardboard container as well as two Disney princess lamps on the floor. The entire room had a rectangular shape to it and appeared to have no entry or exit point. It wasn't until Peter noticed metal rungs leading up the farthest brick wall that he began to think otherwise. He cautiously took a step in, his eyes darting to the right. He couldn't quite see everything behind the ping pong table, but he was beginning to understand where the delicious smell was coming from. A pair of portable stoves sat atop a roll-away plastic cart. White batter gently bubbled inside a stained griddle, forming a misshapen circle. Peter slowly blinked, his mind refusing to process what it was.

_Is that… pancakes?_

He didn't have any time to question further because a figure soon slid into view. Peter nearly stumbled backwards as the man stood in front of the griddle, white spatula in hand. The red and black of his costume had become all too familiar with him. Panic raced through him as he tried to remain as still as possible.

_Great. I'm not just stuck with a mercenary. I'm stuck with a mercenary trying to start up an underground IHOP. Good job Peter._

Peter carefully inched forward, his eyes glued to Deadpool's back. If he could get far enough away without Deadpool noticing, he could sprint to the ladder and be out of there. All that he needed to worry about was whether or not he had the strength to do it fast enough. Quiet seconds ticked by as Peter slowly made his way out of the door frame and into the room. He crept towards the back of the hideous couch, noting the large, wood table that sat between him and his captor.

_It'll take him a minute to get around that. All I need to do is get past the couch and-_

Crunch.

Peter jumped as his left foot bared down on a styrofoam ramen cup. The noise bounced around the room, causing Deadpool to turn away from the griddle. Both men simply stared at each other; one frozen mid stride and the other holding up a batter covered spoon. The concoction languidly splattered on the floor. Deadpool glanced down at it, which proved to be his undoing. Peter immediately went into combat mode and searched for anything suitable to throw. A half empty Aunt Jemima syrup bottle was the only item close to him, so with little hesitation he snatched it off the table and flung it across the room. Deadpool looked up just in time to see the condiment smash into his nose, eliciting a pained yelp. He stumbled backwards and bumped against the griddle.

"Ow! Jesus Spidey. Calm down-"

Deadpool let his sentence trail off as his teary eyes finally found Peter, who was already a few feet away from the ladder. Peter was taking no chances this time. His legs exploded with pain as the multitude of cuts reopened. The energy he had used on breaking his restraints was long gone, but his unyielding will scrapped up enough determination to keep him going. It wasn't until Deadpool threw the syrup bottle back at him that Peter had to stop. He ducked to the left, his Spider Sense barely warning him in time. It crashed into the ladder with a loud clang, becoming lodged in between two rungs. The bright red cap popped off without much resistance and soon thick ropes of syrup flowed downwards. Sticky tendrils lazily plopped onto the rungs below as it descended, piling into a gleaming puddle on the ground. Peter frantically whipped his head around. Deadpool had left the pancakes and was now walking towards Peter with his arms across his chest. With prompt nimbleness, Peter sprang onto the wall next to him and eyed Deadpool wearily. The mercenary simply rolled his eyes.

"Come on. I'm not that bad am I? I haven't tried to kill you once today."

Peter glared daggers into Deadpool's mask.

"Where am I?" He demanded, his tone cold.

Deadpool huffed.

"This-" Deadpool opened his arms wide and turned in a circle. "Is where I live."

"You live...in a sewer." Peter said flatly.

"Rent in New York is a bitch kid. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

Peter remained quiet, this time formulating a plan to get past Deadpool. The shaking in his limbs had not ceased. He figured he had just enough energy to leap onto the ladder-

"Anyways," Deadpool started, "I was _going_ to sit down and have a nice, civil talk with you about what's gone down, but I suppose screaming at you from down here will do."

Peter tensed his legs, preparing to spring.

"Spidey, I wouldn't do that. I already had to drag your sorry ass out of the seventh circle of hell. Not guaranteeing I'm going to do that again."

Peter ignored Deadpool's comment and leaped. The air rushed past his skin, sending tingles across it. He could see the rung he was aiming for and reached out his left hand. It brushed against the freezing metal, his fingers encircling it. Just as he was about to fully grip the rung, a tremor ran through his hand. The muscles failed to handle the pressure of supporting his body and they soon gave out. Shock coursed through Peter as his hand slipped off the ladder, preventing him from halting the rest of his body's motion. He crashed into it with decent force, the air in his lungs rushing out in a loud cry. Gravity greedily pulled his body downwards, bruises and cuts slamming into rung after rung. Peter desperately tried to grip onto anything, but he was far too disoriented to manage. With a loud thump his body finally came into contact with the ground. The pile of syrup splattered underneath his back, oozing into a select few cuts. Fuzzy dots crowded around Peter's vision as he lay beneath the ladder, struggling for breath. The only thing he could make out was Deadpool's voice.

"I've seen pigeons crash into windows with more grace than that."

A small amount of anger bubbled inside Peter, but there was nothing he could do about it. His body was far from recovered and his head sure as hell wasn't either. The migraine he had fought off earlier returned, this time creating waves of pain that ended at the base of his skull. It was almost as if a disconnect occurred between Peter's mind and the rest of his body. His arms and legs refused to move in the slightest no matter how hard he tried. Dread was the only thing Peter could muster.

_Gotta...get up…_

He knew how vulnerable he was and yet his body still acted as if it didn't care. Peter felt a cold chill run down his spine as the sound of footfall echoed around him. Deadpool could be armed with anything; a gun, a knife. It didn't matter. He'd be dead any second now. Short breaths barely escaped him as he tried to contain his fear. He hoped, prayed, that his legs would at least allow him to roll over. A few minutes of blind struggling passed, Peter's anxiety growing. His right foot suddenly kicked out. Relief flowed through him as he soon struggled onto his stomach, head hung low. The blanket of haze that engulfed him lifted for the briefest of moments. Fortunately, it was enough for Peter to wobbily scramble to his knees. Panting could be heard around the room as the exertion of his movements finally caught up to him. Much to Peter's surprise, Deadpool hadn't attempted anything in the past few minutes. In fact, the earlier sound of boots against cement had stopped, leaving Peter with no idea where Deadpool was. With the little strength he had left, Peter lifted his head.

What he saw left him speechless. Deadpool was sitting at the table, crossed hands and legs, staring at him. A plate of four stacked pancakes sat next to him, steam still rising off the fluffy, golden surface. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air before Deadpool finally spoke.

"Come. Sit." He said, patting the chair on his left with enthusiasm.

Peter simply stayed on his knees, arms slack by his sides. His chest heaved up and down before eventually calming to more shallow rises. Suspicious eyes darted between the plate of pancakes and Deadpool, not fully understanding what the plan was behind it all. Peter glanced back at the ladder.

"Oh come on! Really? You're gonna pick falling on your face over homemade pancakes?"

Deadpool pinched the bridge of his nose while shaking his head in disdain.

"This kid is going places. Not college, but places." He mumbled, voice barely audible.

Deadpool turned in his chair to better look at Peter, this time shifting his gaze along his entire body.

"You look like Aunt Jemima's white slave boy. Seriously. I didn't spend hours buying staples and craft glue just to have you open your wounds again. Get over here and eat something too. Deadpool's not about to have a hungry man in his house. Mmmm-mm no child!"

The end of Deadpool's little speech took on a southern, preacher woman accent, confusing Peter beyond belief.

He sat there, comprehending what had been said.

_Staples...craft glue?_

Peter shook his head and struggled to his feet. His mind was failing to grasp the absurdity of the situation.

_Am I about to have breakfast with my would be killer?_

He glanced up from staring at the ground, only to see Deadpool pointing between Peter and the pancakes. Peter again shook his head, a sigh of resignation escaping him.

_Yeah. I guess I am._

With that, Peter shakily made his way towards the table.


	10. Save Peter Parker

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Peter stared at Deadpool, his shoulders resting on the table. The plate of pancakes sat directly under him without a single bite present. He had hastily grabbed the food and chair next to Deadpool before dragging them to the opposite side of the table. There was only so much of Deadpool he could handle and sitting next to him was out of the question. A fly sluggishly buzzed across the table, hovering around Deadpool's head. He swatted at it a few times before full on flailing his arms. This went on for a few minutes, causing Peter to simply shake his head. He rubbed both of his temples, frustration beginning to build.

"Look. Deadpool. About that talk..."

Deadpool snapped his head back to Peter, arms frozen mid air. It took a minute for him to process what was said, but once he understood he nearly jumped out of his chair. Peter leaned back, already overwhelmed by Deadpool's aura.

"Yeah! Right. Gotta have the talk. Initiate the conversation. Start up a little chat-"

"Deadpool." Peter said flatly, tone laced with irritation.

Deadpool halted his nervous rambling. He took a minute to collect his thoughts before continuing.

"Here's the deal. One of my employers ordered a hit on, as you probably guessed, you. Didn't want any upstarts in the neighborhood. That's where yours truly comes in. My first plan didn't quite work out...Woke up in the hospital, had to improv."

Deadpool paused.

"You don't remember hearing Spice Girls do you? Because-"

"Wait. Wait."

Peter frowned, his mind racing to remember why he was so shocked to see Deadpool in the first place.

_The report...about seeing a man leave the morgue..._

Peter straightened up, disbelief coursing through him.

"Did you..." He stuttered. "Was that you?"

Deadpool cocked his head, confusion evident. Fortunately for Peter, the light bulb eventually went off.

"What? In front of the Google building?"

"Bugle..." Peter whispered, his eyes widening.

_It couldn't be him. There's no way. No one walks away from death..._

"I mean it wasn't a shining moment for D-pooly, but it wasn't a complete failure. You should see how many views I got on YouTube. Pewdiepie became my bitch about-" Deadpool glanced down at an imaginary watch. "ten hours ago."

Peter remained silent. All of the facts pointed to the impossible. Deadpool, under some ethereal freak accident, got up and walked away from a deadly bullet wound. Peter dismissed it, as any sane person would.

"You're lying."

Deadpool slowly shook his head, a wolfish grin spreading behind his mask.

"Afraid not Spider-Slave. This fine piece of ass is one hundred percent death-proof."

Peter resorted to staring at Deadpool, his mind blank. So much had happened and now this? What was he supposed to think? Deadpool continued, taking Peter's silence as disbelief.

"I can prove it. Let me just grab a katana..."

He glanced behind himself before sliding out of his chair. Peter jumped up, voice panicked.

"NO! No. I believe you. Just-"

Peter's sentence was cut off as a wave of dizziness suddenly rushed to his head. He teetered unsteadily before slumping down in his chair, eyes struggling to stay open. The shaking in his limbs grew more pronounced as he struggled to keep his head up. Deadpool quickly rushed over to Peter's side.

"Whoa there princess. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Deadpool eased Peter back into his seat, ignoring the flinches Peter gave him as he touched his bare skin. He jogged over to a musty cardboard box and pulled out a green plastic cup. Conveniently located next to the box was a case of bottled water, which he ripped open. As he walked back and filled the cup, Deadpool chided Peter.

"You should really eat the damn pancakes. I went through all the trouble of making them"

He huffed, gently placing the cup down in front of Peter.

"You really are a rookie, aren't you?"

Peter simply ignored the comment. The prospect of drinking cool, crisp water was overwhelming. His throat was intolerably dry. It felt as if cotton balls had been stuffed down it along with a healthy dose of sand. Peter snatched up the cup without so much as a thank you and quickly brought it to his lips. Before he took a sip, he hesitated. All he had to do was unroll his mask, but could he trust Deadpool not to rip it right off? Could he even trust the water itself? The cup hovered in front of him, the clear liquid taunting. Deadpool took notice of Peter's doubt.

"For fucks sake, I'M NOT GOING TO KILL YOU. Really. I spent valuable Netflix time stitching you up. Don't make me regret skipping Golden Girls."

Peter listened, his mind churning out all possible plans of action. Unfortunately, none of them would be possible without some kind of energy improvement. There was no way he was going to beat Deadpool half starved. With a stressed sigh, he lifted up the bottom part of his mask and began drinking. Needless to say, it didn't take him long. The cup was practically in the air for five seconds before it clattered against the table. Deadpool nodded his head with great exaggeration, speaking to Peter as if he was a toddler.

"Good Spiderman! Now eat your pancakes..."

Deadpool slid the plate right under Peter's nose. Peter let an irritated growl escape him as Deadpool's smart ass attitude left him more than indignant. After the injuries this guy put him through... An insistent whine issued from his stomach, which was soon followed by sharp hunger pains. Peter nearly doubled over yet again.

_I can't pass this up. Not like this._

Every fiber of him wanted to deck Deadpool and run. It was practically insane to sit there with your ex-assassin and allow him to feed you. Allowing him to do anything besides hang upside-down on the nearest street lamp would have appalled healthy Peter. With practiced patience, Peter swallowed his anger and grabbed the plastic fork on his left. He dug into the pancakes without a word, hoping that this would relieve some of his lethargy.

* * *

Peter sat staring at the table below him, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He had finished the pancakes with as much energy as he could muster. It may have felt like a lot of effort to Peter, but the stack of pancakes was reduced by only half. Deadpool had consequently made some snide comment about it, but Peter missed it. The cuts under his thighs were irritated by the wood seat, which was splintering left and right. He had asked Deadpool for clothes, anything really. To his disdain, Deadpool was loath to comply. The way Deadpool glanced up and down his body... He couldn't help the prickles of disgust that settled in his stomach. This man had him tied to his bed while he was unconscious. Just the thought of it made Peter want to gag. Luckily, Deadpool gave in to Peter's stern demands with a disappointed whine. He came back with a pair of grey sweatpants and a peculiar black T-shirt. On the chest in bright, blocky red letters was the phrase "Have you seen this man?" followed by a crude crayon drawing of some guy getting shot in the head. Peter simply looked at it and then up at Deadpool. Deadpool shrugged his shoulders.

"Sorry. It was an extra. Needed to get revenue up somehow."

Peter didn't even know where to begin. Revenue? He paid no heed to it, reminding himself that this man was indeed mentally ill. Anyone who claimed to be "death-proof" was definitely a few slices short of a pizza. He hastily threw it on before sitting back down in the chair, which was where he is now. Peter had spent at least fifteen minutes running over the information he had obtained. Things weren't quite piecing together. He glanced up at Deadpool, who was carelessly lounging on the inflatable couch.

"Who ordered the hit on me?"

Deadpool shrugged his shoulders.

"Dunno. All I know is that they were willing to pay muchos dolares for your head on a stick."

"Why..." Peter trailed off, his voice growing quiet as he thought.

"Why did I save you?"

Peter wasn't expecting Deadpool to guess his sentence that quickly. He simply nodded his head once, curiosity taking hold.

"Well..." Deadpool started, still searching for what to say. "I was going to kill you. Daddy needs a new Xbox, but I thought of something better. The asshat that hired me is new to this kind of... business." Deadpool made sure to add air quotes around the word business. "So I figured I'd screw him over and call it a day."

A sinking feeling settled into the pit of Peter's stomach.

"What do you mean by screw him over?"

"I told them I blew you up and then took the cash. It was all over the news so it wasn't hard to convince them."

Peter jumped out of his chair, his panic reaching new heights. All over the news? He took a few steps forward before pointing at the TV.

"Turn it on." He demanded.

Deadpool shook his head.

"Where are your manners Spidey? Besides, New York is a busy place. That won't even make nightly news."

"Look Deadpool," Peter growled, his patience finally worn out. "you're going to tell me exactly what happened after the ambulance crashed. Now."

Deadpool turned his head towards Peter in a shocked manner, his eyes wide. He never expected such sass from a superhero...

"Don't get your crippled panties in a wad bug boy. I dragged you out of the ambulance, dropped a grenade, and got the hell out of there."

"How long ago was that?"

Deadpool let out an irritated sigh, his head lolling back against the couch.

"Three or four..." He trailed off, his attention captured by a mini Snickers bar nestled among a litter of empty wrappers. Deadpool quickly sat up. "Hey! I see you hiding you little-"

"Three or four what!" Peter yelled, his nerves frayed.

"Jesus, days! Three or four days you demanding shit."

Peter stumbled back into his chair, his hands covering his eyes. This was worse than he thought. So. so much worse. Going missing for a few days may not be a problem for Spiderman, but Peter Parker?

_Aunt May must be going through hell right now... _Peter thought guiltily.

There was also the college classes he inexplicably missed, as well as an earful from Jameson he was bound to get. Peter was immediately overwhelmed. A mild headache began to plague him, furthering his already elevated stress level. He needed to get to Aunt May as soon as possible. A loud clatter rang through the room as Peter stood, the chair knocked over in his haste.

"I'm leaving. I better not see you anywhere in New York Deadpool."

Peter briskly walked past the couch, his burning worry allowing him to ignore the pain radiating from his muscles. Before he could get any farther, Deadpool yelled for him.

"Wait! I still need-"

"What you need is a doctor. Many doctors."

Peter tried to continue towards the ladder, but Deadpool's iron grip on his right arm halted him. He nearly jumped from it, Deadpool's approach going unnoticed.

"No, listen. There's someone... There's someone that needs your help. Yeah."

Peter rolled his eyes. He had learned the hard way that Deadpool wasn't to be trusted. Ever.

"Deadpool." Peter huffed, pushing his hand away. "I appreciate what you did. Really. I just can't stay here any longer. You, meanwhile, need to turn yourself in. I'm sure they'll be lenient."

Deadpool rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, a glare settling behind his mask.

"Again, not a fan of your boy scout circle jerk you have going on with the NYPD. Can't you hear me out for five seconds?"

"No. Look, just stay here. I'll come back in a few days alright?"

"God FINE." Deadpool angrily spit out the last word. He then reached into a back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

"This is the guy. Tell him Deadpool needs to have a chat. Soon."

Peter jammed it into his sweatpants and turned to leave, relieved that the conversation was finally over. He had about a million things to take care of... His hand reached a rung and pulled, lifting him onto the ladder.

"Also," Deadpool suddenly shouted.

Peter let out a groan, but glanced back at the mercenary.

"You might want to check up on him. Just once."

"Got it."

With that, Peter hurriedly made his way up the ladder.

* * *

Peter let out a tired huff, rolling his shoulders and wincing soon after. A light rain pattered at his bedroom window as the beginnings of a storm rumbled through. The biting cold was safely stuck outside, his body wrapped in a warm glow under his bed's comforter. He stared at the descending drops with a deep frown, mind running through the day's events. After leaving Deadpool's "apartment" Peter had slunk between alleyways, waiting until he was a good distance away before taking off his mask. A huge bruise was spreading across his chin, a myriad of yellows, greens, and purples radiating from the center. He hung his head in defeat as it was yet another injury he was going to have to explain to Aunt May. It took him about half an hour to find the nearest Urgent Care, which became a necessity as soon as he discovered a large gash on his shoulder filled with glue. The look on the doctor's face...

_Definitely not something he'd seen before._ Peter thought drowsily.

It had taken a few hours to remove all of the glue and staples, which lead to profuse bleeding on his part. A roll of gauze and two morphine pills later, he was nearly back to normal. The doctor tried to insist on an overnight stay, but Peter's wallet and mind definitely couldn't afford it. A suspicious frown followed him out the door. Peter didn't blame him. He had refused to explain a single cut or bruise on his body. Then came the lost wandering before he finally found a subway station. Time seemed to move in a hazy blur as he grew closer to his home, mind flooding with questions.

_Who ordered the hit on me? Deadpool wasn't very forthcoming with information... Where am I going to get a new suit? It took me forever to make the first one... What do I say to Aunt May?_

The last pondering stirred up large amounts of guilt in Peter. She must have been worried sick for the past few days... It was about midnight when Peter finally arrived. An NYPD cruiser was parked outside his house, no doubt updating his Aunt on any progress finding her missing son. Peter swallowed the lump in his chest as he placed his hand on the door handle, eyes peering in through the window. An older policeman was sitting with his Aunt on the living room couch, his arm around her shoulders. His Aunt...the sight broke Peter's heart. She was crying into a light pink tissue, grey hair in a tangled pony tail. He couldn't wait any longer. With a deep breath he stepped through the door, heart in his throat. Shocked silence ensued as both his Aunt and the officer stared at him in disbelief. Peter opened his mouth, searching for something to say to his distraught Aunt. Before anything would from she had jumped up from the couch and ran into Peter's arms, her hands pulling his head down for a hug. She sobbed into his shoulder.

"My god Peter! Peter... I was so worried."

Another few hours passed of tears and repeated apologies. The police officer immediately called in to lift his missing persons status before sitting Peter down. It was more than a pain for Peter to shamble together a somewhat believable story. Mugged in an alleyway and rescued by a hobo. He gave the officer a sheepish smile as the same skeptical stare crossed his face, but Aunt May came to his rescue. She quickly shooed the man out of the house, insisting with firm resolution that Peter get his rest. The neighbors had brought over a few dishes of food, all of which Peter ate within ten minutes of discovery. He couldn't stop apologizing to Aunt May, who of course would hear none of it. She practically chased him to his room with a broom.

A bright flash of lightning abruptly illuminated Peter's room. Rain slammed into his window with intense force, jarring him out of his thoughts. A drawn out yawn escaped him as his eyelids fluttered.

_Let's never do that again._

Unfortunately, Peter couldn't quite stop the nagging worry that ate at his mind. He had left Deadpool, a man who stole an ambulance and an innocent bystander, alone in the sewers of New York. Not to mention Spiderman now had unknown enemies to deal with. It wouldn't take long for them to find out he was still alive... A sliver of memory suddenly popped into Peter's mind. He let out a quiet cuss.

_I have to look into that guy Deadpool was talking about. He probably doesn't even exist..._

Peter rolled onto his side, eyeing the crumpled sweatpants that lay in the middle of his floor. He had eagerly ripped them off as soon as Aunt May suggested a shower. The white slip of paper just peaked out from the front pocket, beckoning him to pick it up. He simply stared at it.

_This could end up being exactly like before. It'd be better just to turn Deadpool in and move on._

No matter how hard Peter tried to commit this thought into his future plans, he couldn't. If someone needed help, no matter how small, he had to at least check it out. Spiderman wasn't allowed to be selective. With a groan of resignation Peter dragged himself out of bed and slowly made his way towards the picture. He snatched it up, glancing at it with little interest.

That proved to change. Quickly.

Peter froze, his eyes widening in shock. With haste he walked over to his desk and flicked on the small lamp to his right, hoping that what he'd seen was altered by the darkness. Soft yellow light flooded onto the photo, which was sloppily printed off of the Daily Bugle's website. Quietly, Peter sunk into his chair. His head soon landed against his desk with a loud thunk.

_This can't be happening..._

Below the all too familiar photo was a name written in bright red sharpie.

Peter Parker.


	11. A Bad Idea

Deadpool anxiously paced around the pink inflatable couch, arms crossed in front of his chest. He had waited six days. _Six _days for Spiderman to show up, and he had nada. Zip. Nothing. Zero. An irritated growl escaped him as he plopped down into a cheap, blue folding chair.

[I told you we should have kept him here.]

Deadpool rolled his eyes.

"I had to have a little faith in New York's spandex super-monkey, right?"

[No, no you didn't. We could have just killed him and then kidnapped the Parker kid without all of this bullshit.]

{This way is more fun! We get to take care of our employer without lifting a finger. The only other person that can do that besides us is-}

"Spiderman." Deadpool growled. "I know, but he hasn't exactly come through. A "few days" doesn't mean a week. He forgot about us."

Deadpool was mildly surprised at the small amount of hurt that bubbled up once he finished. He didn't mind parting ways with Spiderman, but he said he would return...

[Just wait. Do you think that boy scout is going to let _us _roam around New York? He'll be back.]

{But what if something happened? What if something happened to Peter?}

[Please, you know we-]

Deadpool suddenly jumped up from the couch, his eyes set on the manhole cover a few feet away. Tendrils of rust reached across the metal, creating dull, blood orange flakes. Droplets of condensation swelled before falling to the concrete below, creating a steady dripping noise. He quickly jogged towards it, mind set.

[Whoa. What the hell are you doing?]

Deadpool clenched his fists as determination coursed through him.

"I can't wait on Spider-Spanx. I need to find Parker before..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say.

[Before what?!] The voice yelled. [Before Ezio's cartel comes to kill us? Before the NYPD blows us up for good? There's no reason to waste our time on a piece of ass.]

Deadpool stopped, now standing in front of the ladder. The frigid air snuggled tight against his body as he simply stared upwards. Saying he was conflicted was an understatement. Everything his smarter alter ego said made sense. It was logical. Sane. A word Deadpool never thought he'd think again. Yet he still had the burning urge to continue. When he saw him, Parker, it was like he had returned to his old self. No voices, no scars. There would still be the Daddy issues, but who's to say Parker couldn't-

[NO. Think, Wade. No one will ever love this face.]

A sad smile crossed his lips as a glimpse of his horrendously disfigured features popped into his mind. He was right. People may force a smile for his sake, but their facade ended when his back was turned. Pity. He hated the pity. The sympathetic stares and sugar coated words.

"It'll get better."

"What's on the inside is what counts."

"The right person will come along and-"

Deadpool suddenly punched the wall next to him, his index knuckle popping out of place from the sheer force. A small crater formed instantaneously before a thick crack snaked upwards. It raced in a haphazard pattern, stopping a few inches away from its source. Grey sediment crumbled to the ground and along his feet, largely going unnoticed. The rage that pulsed through Deadpool's veins was growing to catastrophic proportions. His muscles openly shook as it continued to build, worrying his juvenile alter ego.

{H-Hey...buddy. I didn't sign up for this feels trip. Who needs a pity party anyways? We're the Merc with a Mouth. Mercenary number-fucking-one. If we find a hot time waster, then we sure as hell are going to waste our time. Don't listen to Mr. I Constantly Have A Stick Up My Ass!}

[What the hell did you say?]

Deadpool let out a groan as his thoughts proceeded to tangle themselves into a curse filled mess. He simply leaned against the ladder as his alter egos went at it, occasionally taking notes as exceptionally crude phrases popped up.

"Undo the calamity that is your mammaries..." He muttered, jotting it down on an invisible note pad. "Hakuna your tatas. Helen Keller's easy bake oven. Ass biscuit. Unnecessary movie sequel..."

Deadpool planned on continuing, but the well spoken voice had enough.

[You know what? Fuck you. Fuck both of you. Do what you want. You want to run all over New York looking for some pansy ass college kid? Be my guest. Just don't count on me to save your ass anymore.]

Deadpool paused, still trying to decide whether or not it was a good idea to leave. After all, Spiderman did tell him to wait here. He didn't want to miss him...

{All of our ideas are bad ideas! We're screwed no matter which one we pick. Might as well go with the fun one.}

He thought about it, shrugged, and then promptly snapped his wayward joint back into place. If he was going to start a shit storm then there had to be some sort of ungodly love interest smack at the epicenter. As he reached out to grab onto the ladder one of his thoughts interrupted him, screaming with frustration.

[Oh for FUCKS SAKE. LOOK DOWN YOU IMBECILE.]

Deadpool quickly did, frowning as he blankly gawked at the ground. It was just a bunch of cement... What the hell? At this point the voice was practically seething with rage.

[Look. At. Your. _Self._]

Again, he followed orders, this time letting out an enlightened "Ohhhh...". His costume was riddled with tears of all sizes, ending up with Deadpool showing more skin than suit. He let out a dejected groan before flopping down onto the ground. Parker needed to see him as Deadpool, not Wade Wilson. It would be a major pain in the ass having to sell the whole mercenary deal without looking the part. How was he going to repair it though? All of his spares were back in San Francisco littered around Blind Al's house. No amount of crazed Skype charades was going to fix that... Deadpool glanced at the couch, an idea popping into his head. He quickly walked over to it, snatching up a heavy duty pocket knife from his belt. It didn't take long for one of his alter egos to catch on.

{Oooooo I see! There's still some craft glue left over... and a few staples!}

He slashed into the peculiar furniture with little effort, creating a loud hiss followed by a blast of air. Deadpool continued to cut, reducing the plastic to fine shreds. The faster he moved, the sooner he could get to Peter Parker. A mischievous smirk snaked across his lips as he set to work, his mind riveted on capturing his prey.


	12. Let's Blow this Science Hut

Deadpool blindly stumbled around, a frown deeply etched onto his face. There were so many brick buildings and all of them were red! How in the hell was he supposed to find the- He glanced down at a colorful Empire State University campus map- Simms Biology Building?! He was roughly shaken out of his thoughts as he suddenly bumped into a football player. He snapped his head up, an unwelcoming glare written all over his features. Deadpool back peddled a bit, hands held up in an apologetic gesture. Unfortunately, the blond athlete wasn't having it.

"Watch where you're going dumbass." He snarled, blue eyes glittering with ill-hidden hostility. They roamed over Deadpool's body, a look of disgust soon taking hold.

"What the hell...What are you wearing?"

Deadpool glanced down, seeing absolutely nothing wrong with the image below. Anyone else, however, would have immediately been perplexed. His classic black and red costume was riddled with patches of shiny, bright pink plastic, making it look as if he had been on the receiving end of a popped bubble of gum. Deadpool simply shook his head before steering the conversation in a more beneficial direction. He shoved the map in front of blondie's face, finger hovering over a sprawling building.

"How do I get to the science hut?" He shouted, earning an annoyed flinch.

[Great. Let's piss him off some more. Maybe that'll get him to take us there.]

Before Deadpool could argue, the map was snatched out of his hands.

"Rude..." He mumbled indignantly, eyes looking off to the side.

"Can it." The blond cut shortly, meanwhile intently studying the map below. He was quiet for a few minutes before finally turning the map so that Deadpool could view it.

"Take this path, make a right by the Anteer Student Center, and then walk to the end of the sidewalk. It'll be on the right..." His voice trailed off as he continued to stare at Deadpool suspiciously, tone matching. "Is this some kind of prank?"

{Yes?}

"Yes!" He shouted confidently. "Yes it is. Now if you could just tell me again what those directions were-"

"Thompson!" A voice yelled far behind them. The blond glanced up just in time to see another student approaching. He wore a pair of jeans along with a cherry red and gold varsity jacket emblazoned with a white MH on the left chest area. Deadpool glanced back at the new addition and then at the guy in front of him, noting how their jackets matched perfectly.

"Didn't see you at practice yesterday. Everyone was..." The brunette abruptly stopped, giving Deadpool yet another long, confused stare. His mouth parted ever so slightly as he glanced between his friend and the oddity in front of him.

"What..." He began, but he was quickly cut off by a wave of the hand.

"Just some prank. Give me a second."

Deadpool nearly dropped the map as blondie shoved past him, mumbling a string of complaints under his breath before catching up with is friend. Only bits of their conversation drifted into his hearing.

"Flash, isn't that the guy from YouTube? The one that got shot in front of the Bugle?"

Flash snorted, running a hand through his short hair.

"No way that guy's still breathing. He's toast. Must be some sick reenactment-"

{See!} One of his voices chirruped. {I told you we'd be famous! Just wait until we get that diamond play button...}

He roughly dismissed the thought before turning on his heel and jogging in the direction Flash had pointed out. Clusters of skinny trees crowded around the cement walkway, their plump foliage casting small shadows. The sun was high in the sky, its rays relentlessly beating down onto the earth below. Deadpool tried to stick to the shadows, but the oppressive heat seemed to follow him at every turn. A full body costume wasn't the best choice for New York summers.

After agonizingly long minutes of fumbling around, Deadpool burst through the Simms Building's double doors, a blast of frigid air greeting him. A sigh of relief escaped as his sweat drenched body finally began to cool down. He brushed past a shocked janitor before returning to the map, this time flipping it over. Blue ink was scribbled in unsteady lines, words barely distinguishable. Deadpool squinted at it.

"Micro..organisms...and Human Diseases. Room 201." He murmured, turning in circles to regain his bearings.

Rows upon rows of doors lined the walls around him, each one labeled with grey numbers. A small amount of panic began to course through his veins as he realized how lost he actually was.

[Look at the door numbers moron.]

_Oh. Yeah._

He glanced at the door nearest to him, noting the three digit label, 105. A drawn out groan soon followed, adding to Deadpool's already moderate level of frustration. After all the running he had to do to get here, he was going to have to climb a set of stairs. The mercenary slouched his shoulders and dragged his feet along the linoleum floor, heading off towards the nearest stairwell.

* * *

Deadpool let out an overdrawn huff, his aching feet breaking down the small amount of patience he built up. There were at least fifty different hallways on the first floor alone and the second sure as hell wasn't any better.

{It's like Monster's Inc. minus the fun.}

Deadpool nodded his head in solidarity before turning yet another corner. He looked up at a set of white double doors. Right above the door frame was a small, brown plaque engraved with three numbers; 201. Deadpool froze, his eyes going wide.

"Microorganisms and Human Diseases. 201." He muttered in disbelief. It didn't take long before he was sprinting down the hallway, enthusiasm revitalized.

"Microorganisms and Human Diseases Room 201!" He happily yelled.

He quickly approached the doors before glancing in through a small pane of glass located on the left side. His cheek smashed up against the surface, smushing his face flat. A small amount of worry bubbled up as his eyes scanned the room, which turned out to be a ridiculously massive lecture hall. At least a hundred students were packed into row after row of desks, all sloped so that they could see the duel smart boards centered at the front of the room. Deadpool's shoulders slumped.

"How the hell am I supposed to find him?"

[Well, that's too bad. I guess we have to go home-]

{Just go in and shout for him! I'm sure he'll stand up or something.}

[Please don't do that. Please.]

Deadpool took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. Normally he would have just burst in and started screaming Parker's name, but something about him was different. Deadpool actually felt _nervous_. A rough shake of the head dispelled small amounts of it before he placed both hands on the left door, bracing for what was to come.

"Just open the door and walk in. Nothing to it." He whispered for his own comfort.

With that said, he shoved the door open and briskly stepped into the room, heart in throat. A select few pairs of groggy eyes glanced back at him before immediately snapping open. Deadpool simply gave them an awkward wave, nervous sweat beginning to form as more students turned in their seats. A painfully monotonous voice was the only noise to be heard besides the static buzzing of two projectors.

"The Krebs Cycle is not only a pathway for the breakdown of glucose, but also for the breakdown of metabolites." The professor droned, turning from the board to view his class.

"You'll notice no oxygen molecules are present in the formula-"

Deadpool zoned out, focused on finding Parker. He squeezed past the very back row, accidentally bumping one female student in the back of the head with his belt buckle.

"Sorry." He murmured, meanwhile scanning the room.

There was no way he was going to find him like this. More than half of the guys had short hair, most of which were brown in color. He leaned over an empty seat, whispering into the ear of the person nearest to him.

"Hey. Have you seen a kid named Peter Parker? Brown hair, greenish eyes. Looks like a total dork."

This went on for a few minutes, earning him more and more disturbed stares. Ill-contained whispers began to float around, a domino effect being the unfortunate result. Soon the focus of the room was on Deadpool, a select few phones already recording. The professor paused before turning away from the board, his steely eyes giving Deadpool a nasty glare.

"What are you doing interrupting my class?" He said with flat accusation.

By now, the entirety of the class was staring at Deadpool. He froze, eyes wide.

"Uh..." He stuttered.

{Just shout Parker's name! Do it!}

[Don't. Don't do it.]

"Where's Parker?! Peter Parker? Anyone?" He yelled.

[God dammit.]

The professor crossed his arms before glancing to a seat in the first row.

"I don't appreciate these kinds of pranks in my lecture hall Mr. Parker."

Deadpool's pulse quickened ever so slightly as the name reached him. He stood on his tiptoes, eagerly eyeing the student that had immediately shrunk under the professor's stern gaze.

"Parker?" He again questioned.

A student in the front row stood up, his eyes wildly looking around. As soon as they landed on Deadpool a glint of recognition passed behind them, almost too small for Deadpool to notice. He glanced back at his professor, voice panicked.

"N-no! I have no idea what this is. Honestly."

The professor opened his mouth to reply, but Deadpool beat him to it.

"Wait what? Spiderman didn't come to check on you?"

Fast murmurs rippled through the sea of people around them as the vigilante's name came up. Deadpool continued to stare at Peter, noticing the worried way he glanced around the room. His hands clutched tightly to a camera, cheeks burning. The professor shook his head before pointing to the door.

"I don't have time for this. Take your things and leave. I expected better from a pupil of Connor's."

Deadpool watched as shock flashed across Peter's face before it was quickly replaced with intense embarrassment. He kept his head low as he gathered his laptop and messenger bag, wincing as he noticed the iPhones and Androids following his every move. Deadpool raised his arms, voice full of excitement.

"It took me hours to find you! Do you know how hard it is to-"

Peter had vaulted up the set of stairs furthest from Deadpool and out the door, barely giving Deadpool the chance to take a breath. He stood in the back of the room, speechless. He didn't even get to say hi...

{Go get him! Hurry! This is our chance to finally get a piece of college-}

"Why are you still here?" The professor snapped. "Get out!"

Deadpool simply rolled his eyes, too hung up on the idea of finally seeing Peter again. He jogged out of the same door Peter had, looking down at the black metal stairs. The sound of footfall was strangely absent in the tight stairwell.

_Jesus. How fast can this guy move?_

Deadpool let the question dissipate as he vaulted down the stairs, skipping three or four at a time. Blinding tube lights illuminated his path, nearly kicking up a headache as he finally reached the last staircase. Loud thuds ricocheted off the walls as his boots slammed against steps in fast succession, a testament to how desperate he was. An old exit sign was dimly glowing above a metal door, indicating a way out. Deadpool practically sprinted for it before tumbling through. He nearly tripped over a group of students studying on the outdoor steps, a few spitting colorful words at him. Panic began to take hold as he wildly looked around, the campus now filling with students and faculty alike for lunch.

_Alright. What was he wearing. Sweatshirt, camera..._

[Dark red sweatshirt. Black camera. Beige khaki shorts.]

{And a messenger bag! Black.}

All kinds of colorful clothing items drifted in and out of his view, none matching Peter's.

_Come on come on-_

{There! By that building with the flags!}

Deadpool snapped his head around, peering through a wave of shoulders and heads to see just what he was looking for. Peter was standing atop the building's stoop, eyes frantically scanning the crowd. His camera was clutched tightly in his right hand, so much so that his knuckles were practically white. He flicked a strand of his brown hair out of his eyes before returning to his searching. Deadpool launched into action, roughly shouldering his way through anyone with the misfortune to cross his path. His pulse grew quicker and quicker as he drew closer to his target. With one final shove, Deadpool exited the rush of people and stood in front of the stoop, panting. Peter finally glanced down at the man below him, eyes growing wide. He began to move towards the glass door on his left, but Deadpool quickly shouted out.

"Wait! Parker! We need to talk!"

Peter paid no mind to Deadpool's imploring demands as he turned on his heel, ready to run. In a flash Deadpool was up the stairs and right behind Peter, hand wrapped around his wrist. He spun Peter around, grasping for words under the intense glare of two emerald eyes.

"Y...you're uh...um.."

[What the hell is wrong with you.]

Deadpool swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry.

"You're in trouble. Like serious trouble, not detention with teacher trouble. Life or death kind of stuff. Is it hot out here?"

Peter yanked his hand out of Deadpool's grip, already fed up.

"Look, I don't know who hired you for this, but you need to leave. I have classes-"

"No." Deadpool blurted, tone stern. "Didn't Spidey come to check on you? At all?"

Peter shook his head, doing his best to look surprised.

"Never heard of him. Can I go?"

Deadpool shook his head with frustration. He had thought Spiderman was the kind of guy that would do a favor for a friend...

"You need to come with me. Yeah. Like now. Right now. People are after you."

Peter's face drained of color as he took a small step backwards, slightly shaken.

"What people?"

"Cartel. Ezio's guys. You just have to trust me."

Peter screwed his eyes shut, frustration written all over his face. Deadpool resorted to just standing in front of him, heart racing. Everything rested on whether or not Peter believed his story, which most definitely wasn't a lie-

{HEY. DON'T BE GIVING ANYTHING AWAY.}

[You're not the best at writing intriguing plot points you know. I'm surprised people even read this piece of-]

ALRIGHT. Thanks guys. You really motivate me. Can we please let the readers get back to the story?

[Sure, if they haven't already clicked away. I would have.]

-Peter shook his head, hands balled into fists.

"I don't know what the hell is going on, but you have half an hour to explain before I go to Physics."

Deadpool wanted to jump for joy, instead settling for a vigorous nod of the head. It took him about two seconds to again grab Peter and drag him down the stoop, ignoring his shouts of protest. He happily made his way to god knows where as the hum of college life was left behind.


	13. A Questionable Plan

Peter glared deeply at Deadpool from the booth seat of a Chuck E. Cheese's, right eye twitching with irritation. After an hour of switching from taxi to taxi and sneaking through unmarked alleyways, they finally arrived. His Physics class was already halfway over by then, adding to Peter's ever growing annoyance. A greasy slice of pizza sat below Peter, the cold, chunky cheese far beyond edible. He halfheartedly pushed at it with a white plastic fork, glancing around the small dining area. A pair of twins were screaming and crying as they tried to yank each other off of a small school bus kiddie ride, cotton candy fingers leaving sticky smudges everywhere. A toddler waddled past Peter with her diaper sagging from overuse. He nearly gagged as the smell hit him.

_What the hell am I doing here? _He questioned, doing anything to keep his mind off the chaos around him.

It was a valid question. Peter was busy beyond imagination ever since Deadpool showed up. It took him hours to sort everything out with his college adviser and Jameson, the former being less moody than the latter. Aunt May never left his side during the three days he stayed in bed and despite her insistent pleading Peter had somehow managed to avoid another trip to the doctor. His mildly accelerated healing allowed him to attend classes after just five days of resting, albeit helped by three rolls of medical tape and high power pain pills. He had been relieved that he could finally submit his lab report, The Debate on Nanobacteria, to Professor Straughton. But after Deadpool's little stunt...

A sigh of frustration escaped him as he glanced to his right, eyes squinting. Pink, blues, reds, and greens all blinked rapidly. Some started as pleasant, soft glows before crescendoing into seizure inducing strobes. Pulses, flashes, and dull twinkles were accompanied by loud soundtracks, none of which went well with each other. A set of skee ball machines were stacked against the farthest wall, all seemingly plucked out of the late seventies. Crawling up the one closest to Peter was Deadpool, arms full of skee balls. He contorted his way under the netting that prevented people from outright throwing the heavy plastic spheres before dropping them in the one thousand point hole. The machine began to blink and blare dated eight bit jingles, eagerly announcing a new high score. Peter simply put his head in his hands.

_Why. Why me. Not just me, but Spiderman as well. Out of all the people in New York..._

"Sir...sir please get out of the skee ball machine."

Peter rubbed his eyes before again looking over at Deadpool. He was out of skee balls and trying to pry them from the holding compartment. A bean pole teen with curly orange hair was desperately pulling at Deadpool's leg, disbelief written all over his face. Peter shook his head. Every part of him knew that a normal person would have never gone along with Deadpool's act to this extent. The only thing keeping him there was the information Deadpool had given to Spiderman. Someone that needed Spiderman's help was someone in serious trouble, but considering Deadpool's idea of "serious" it could be trivial. Peter abruptly stood and walked over to Deadpool. His anger had been aggravated enough. With a strong yank of the arm he hauled Deadpool away from the teen he was whining at and out an emergency exit. The afternoon heat rushed to greet them, soon followed by the insistent pound of a jack hammer. Deadpool was backed up against a brick wall as Peter shoved him away, a deep glare etched into his features.

"Look...Deadpool. I don't know why people are after me, but at this point I don't care. I have classes to attend and a job to go to. You can't just drag me out of a lecture and then drop me off at-"

"I know I know! I just wanted to play a round of skee ball..." Deadpool pouted, sullenly staring at the ground below. Peter sighed in response.

"I don't appreciate it when people lie to me. If I'm in serious trouble then tell me exactly why and who's behind it."

Deadpool quickly jumped to it, occasionally giving the crowded street to their right a nervous glance.

"So this cartel, The Twelfth Night, wanted to kill Spiderman. He's the guy that swings around in red and blue spandex. He didn't talk to you at all?"

Peter shook his head, a small amount of worry bubbling up. He needed to be aware of the facts Peter Parker was and wasn't supposed to know. Playing dumb seemed to be the the safest option.

"Well forget Spiderman then. He was lame anyways. Basically, that cartel wants you dead too. You take all those photos of him and Ezio really didn't like that. So, I'm here to be your bodyguard." He finished happily.

Peter silently stood, eyes narrowing.

"You randomly decided to protect me? And you didn't go to the police first?"

Deadpool quickly hushed Peter in a panicked manner.

"No no no. No police. They wouldn't be able to stop Ezio. Only D-pooly..." Deadpool trailed off. "How did you know my name?" He suddenly asked.

Peter felt his stomach drop. He had addressed Deadpool at the beginning of the conversation without a single bit of hesitation.

_Peter Parker wasn't supposed to know that! _He chided, now struggling for an excuse.

"I had to write an excerpt for the Daily Bugle. Your name came up."

Peter waited with baited breath as Deadpool cocked his head in a questioning manner, eyes narrowing.

_Come on take the explanation. There's no reason not to._

Deadpool put his hands on his belt and smiled.

"I am a pretty popular guy." He stated haughtily.

Peter nearly let out a sigh of relief before he caught himself. His facade needed to last much longer if he was going to find out who this Ezio guy was.

_Speaking of that..._

"So what are you going to do Deadpool? One man can't take down an entire cartel and the NYPD aren't fans of masked crusaders. You should really let them handle this. I'll be safer that way-"

"No no no no no Petey. I told you before, no police. They wouldn't want to help a guy like me anyways."

Peter raised an eyebrow, but Deadpool continued despite his open skepticism.

"There is someone else that could be of service. I mean I _thought _he was the kind of person to help someone in need but I guess not."  
Deadpool mumbled complaints under his breath, a few words like Spider-Flake and web-slinging princess adding to Peter's ever growing irritation.

"But that's where you come in." Deadpool suddenly burst, voice full of enthusiasm.

Peter let his silence speak for him, prompting Deadpool to continue.

"I need someone to convince Spidey that helping me would be the heroic thing to do, because he can't resist saving the day with his questionable god complex."

_Pretty sure he can sit this one out... _Peter thought. Before he could argue against it Deadpool had already moved on, rambling as if it was a done deal.

"So you'll get Spidey in on the plan. You can figure out how to get his attention. Jump off a building, rob a bank, whatever. Just so that he can help me, because if we somehow manage to fail..." Deadpool trailed off before dragging a finger across his neck, shrugging his shoulders afterwards. "If you go to the police, you're screwed. If you choose to ignore me, you're also screwed. I mean if things go well you'll be screwed no matter what-"

"Just. Stop." Peter murmured quietly, frustration evident in the sharpness of his tone.

He put his hands behind his head and walked away from Deadpool. Piles of sodden cardboard boxes were stacked up against the end of the alleyway, stuffed with red, yellow, and brown food scraps. The only two dumpsters present were over capacity with rotting trash, seemingly neglected for months. A scrawny calico cat lazily eyed Peter, giving him a friendly meow after he stared at it. Everything running through Peter's mind was absolutely _not _what he wanted to do. He was going to return to where Deadpool had kept him and hand him over to the police after he recovered. Spiderman didn't need to check on Peter Parker, that much was obvious. They're one in the same after all, but that meant Peter Parker didn't have a web slinging hero to save him when he was in danger. Spiderman could look out for Spiderman, but Peter Parker?

_Let's not overthink this. All we need to do is play along with Deadpool for a bit. Find out who this Ezio guy is, find out if any of this is actually real first, and then shut it down. Taking down a cartel should benefit the NYPD...but how long will it take? If any high powered criminal decides to terrorize New York, this has to be put on hold..._

Peter turned back and looked at Deadpool, who was loading and unloading one of his handguns.

_Peter Parker can't be out on his own if he's a target...and since Spiderman can't help, Deadpool is going to have to do._

A final sigh of resignation escaped Peter as he walked towards Deadpool, stopping in front of him once more. It was going to be his final conversation with the mercenary for the day, so he had to pack as much in as possible.

"Alright. For now, _just for now_, we'll do things your way. If the police can get involved, then we step aside and let them do their job. I only take pictures of Spiderman. There's no guarantee he'll do anything for a stranger claiming to be in danger. A name and a speculation isn't exactly evidence either. "

He pushed on, ignoring Deadpool's attempts at interjection.

"Give me two days to look for Spiderman. We can meet here after that, same time."

Peter began to walk towards the bustling sidewalk to their right, eyes set ahead as he did his best to distance himself from the not so unfamiliar man behind him. Deadpool, of course, wasn't going to let him leave without having a final say.

"Wait! How are you going to stay safe? How are you going to know who to look out for? Petey-"

"DON'T call me Petey." He shouted before disappearing into the mass of people.

Peter closely clutched a tall, plastic cup full of iced green tea. Emerald mint leaves drifted around crystal clear cubes of ice, some resting undisturbed at the bottom. He gently swirled the container and watched them float around. Beads of chilled condensation rolled down onto his hand as he sat back and sighed. After a solid hour of mindless walking he had finally decided to rest at a small, cozy Starbucks. The rich aroma of coffee hung heavy in the air as Peter leaned against a modern looking metal chair, eyes meanwhile up cast at the ceiling. Sheer. Utter. Frustration. That was all he felt. The back of his sweatshirt clung tightly to his skin, sticky from the sweat that sheeted his body. With little hesitation Peter pulled it off and stuffed it in his messenger bag. He had nearly forgotten the thing at Chuck E. Cheese's seeing as his attention had been devoted to...other things. The pleasantly bitter liquid splashed across Peter's tongue as he took a long sip, thoughts again turning to his current predicament.

_Just when I thought I could get a break. I don't really want to work with Deadpool and I can't say I believe him. Pulling a glock on someone isn't exactly a trust builder._

The congested scene around him drew away his focus. All kinds of people were walking by, the teeming diversity present making Peter smile. The world seemed so much bigger now that he could see it from two different perspectives. He continued to enjoy his drink, trying his best not to worry about the consequences he'd have to face once he returned to campus.

_Professor Straughton isn't the kind of guy to laugh at a prank. I have more of a chance at getting struck by lightning than ever seeing that. Deadpool..._

He couldn't prevent the small amount of anger that twisted his soft features into a scowl.

_I can't believe there's someone that crazy walking around._

For some strange reason Peter was suddenly reminded of the pancakes Deadpool had made for him. The fluffy texture and rich maple syrup was the best Peter had ever had. Deadpool even went out of his way to remove the syrup bottle from the ladder. A faint smirk crossed Peter's lips, but he quickly shook it off.

_Spiderman can worry about what to do with Deadpool. Peter Parker comes first for now._

Peter stood and quickly discarded his empty cup into a silver push top trash-can located inside Starbucks. As he leaned over and shoved it in, his camera heavily bumped against his chest, a sudden reminder of Daily Bugle tasks.

_Crap! I have to collect this week's photos from my cameras. It'll take me forever to walk to all of them._

Peter let out a short lived sigh before shouldering his bag. He knew that these cameras were going to be a lot of work when he installed them, but nothing prepared him for walking in grueling New York heat. The pavement reflected it right back up at you, making it feel as if you were in a microwave. Peter simply looked ahead with steely determination before commencing what would be a long afternoon.


End file.
